


Absolution at the Five-and-Dime

by DeanRH



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angel Mating (Supernatural), Angel Wings, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Brotherly Bonding, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel is Protective of Dean Winchester, Castiel's True Form (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester Wing Kink, Dark, Dean Winchester Has a Wing Kink, Dean Winchester Needs to Use Actual Words, Dean Winchester Uses Actual Words, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Realistic, Road Trips, Sam Winchester is So Done, Travel, Voyeurism, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:49:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 144
Words: 125,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanRH/pseuds/DeanRH
Summary: Sam and Dean spend their first year hunting entirely without John.Castiel discovers there's still a lot to learn about the man he saved from Hell and stitched back together.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 1031
Kudos: 486





	1. NEW YEAR'S EVE: Albuquerque, New Mexico

It was the first day of the new year, and Dean couldn't breathe.

The desert wind was somehow both sharp and warm, dry as bone.

He'd always had trouble up here, anywhere at altitude, really. Albuquerque was beautiful in its stark desert way, but he'd never been able to really appreciate it, feeling like he was sipping air into his lungs.

Sam, of course, was just heading back from a run.

"Dude, how can you _run_ here?" asked Dean.

"What?" asked Sam, panting as he leaned over.

"I can never fuckin' breathe when we're in this town," said Dean. "Be glad to see the place in the rearview."

"First year on our own together, you think Dad's gonna let you just bail?" asked Sam.

"Hell no," said Dean. "Just sayin', wanna do the job and get outta here. Desert, man. Can't stand it. Or the altitude."

"I saw a diner back a couple blocks," Sam said. "You wanna get a burger?"

"Do I ever," said Dean, and followed his little brother down the street.

***

Sitting in the diner, Dean found it a little easier to breathe, but just barely.

"Air's thinner up here or somethin'," he muttered, as the waitress poured his coffee.

"We've got two vics and one lady who says she saw a monster," Sam told Dean. "Any ideas?"

"I dunno, Kojak, Dad usually does this crap for us," said Dean. "I ain't the brains of this operation, Sam. I'm just the point-and-shoot."

Sam's eyes got all dewy.

"Oh great, here it comes," said Dean.

"You shouldn't talk about yourself like that," said Sam. "You're smart, Dean. You raised me, didn't you?"

"Well, we had Dad for that, too."

Sam's dismissive huff of air set Dean's teeth on edge.

" _You_ raised me," he repeated firmly. "We're better off alone together than we ever were with him."

"Sam, we're not gonna get into all that again, are we?"

"Here comes your California burger," said Sam, and his focus was back on the case again.

Dean's focus was on his burger.

***

It hadn't been so long ago, after all, the two of them alone and starving.

Literal starvation. John hadn't left them enough money and he'd been gone for three weeks.

Dean understood all too well those scenes in films with kids pressed up against the window of the bakery. Starvation _hurt_ , it crawled up into every part of you, your eyes ached and your mouth felt like grit. 

He'd had vivid dreams of Thanksgiving dinners, not that he'd ever really experienced one. But he could see that soft, moist turkey drizzled in gravy. He woke up crying when he realized it had only been a dream.

Those three weeks spiraled out into a month. Then a couple more weeks.

But it was hearing _Sam_ weeping softly in his sleep, arms tucked around his stomach, belt pulled tight around his waist like Dean had taught him, to keep the hunger at bay.

Dean had steeled himself and gone to the local truck stop.

He'd blown every guy in the men's bathroom for the entire night, anyone willing.

He made five hundred bucks.

And at the end of the night, ashamed, he'd taken his aching cock in hand and bit his other fist as he came _hard,_ striping the toilet with it.

Because he'd liked it, and he didn't really know why. 

He'd heard of sex addicts. Maybe he was one.

Maybe he was delirious from the lack of food.

But he knew two things:

One, they would _never_ have to starve like this again.

Two, he'd found something he was good at.

***

He and Sam feasted that night on turkey drizzled with gravy, and on pie.

Dean had to stop himself and Sam from eating too much too fast, but they went to sleep for the first time with full bellies.

A few weeks after that, John returned. 

He bitched Dean out for being irresponsible, demanded to know what they'd done with his money, and why there was none left.

"Because you didn't leave Dean enough!" shouted Sam.

"Is that so?" John yelled back. "Well, maybe the two of you are old enough to be on your own. Let's try this: how about a year, just the two of you together without your old man? How'd you like that?"

John gave Dean a challenging look.

And Dean had no idea what stirred inside him then, but he'd said back:

"I'd appreciate the challenge, sir," he said. "I can look after Sammy."

"Then it's settled," John told him. "The two of you are gettin' too old for this now anyway. All you do is get in my way."

Sam had watched Dean's expression, which he'd held still as stone.

Couldn't let Sam see his fear, his weakness.

Dean may have been on the other side of twenty, but he was just a _kid._

Then again, maybe he never really had been.

***

Sometimes, Dean got himself off thinking of the men he sucked off or let fuck him in dirty bathrooms across the country.

He didn't really put much thought into it.

***

Now, they were in New Mexico, and Dean was trying his damnedest to acclimate to the altitude.

Unfortunately, it just wasn't going to happen.

Apparently he was a Midwestern boy through and through.

"Ready to go?" asked Sam. "We gotta hit the highway before dusk. If it's a ghost, we can salt and burn the bones."

"Gotcha," said Dean, finishing his burger and standing up, a little woozy.

He followed Sam out to the car.

"Sure you don't want me to drive?" asked Sam.

"Nah, I'm good," said Dean, and unlocked the door of the Impala, which John had let them use, saying he _wanted to be a little more inconspicuous_ due to the thing he was hunting.

The Impala tore off down the highway, toward the setting sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in a vague time period in their early 20s before Sam went off to Stanford.


	2. NEW YEAR'S EVE: Hibbing, Minnesota

All those years had never prepared him for the way sitting next to a blue-eyed angel with finger-in-a-light-socket hair, sitting up ramrod straight, peering down that classic Roman face at Dean, would make him feel.

Like his stomach was doing funny little flips.

But it was huge, and overwhelming, world-ending, this thing between them, and so Dean just ignored it, stuffed it away like he'd done with so many other things over the years.

But here, on a clear day in the Impala, with Cas by his side -

oh, he could hope, and he could dream.

Nights were not as good.

Castiel had once found him curled up in the dark next to the bathtub, muttering _don't make me go back there, don't make me go back there -_

and somehow, his angel knew that Dean wasn't referring to Hell.

 _His_ angel. Dean wondered when he'd started thinking of Castiel like that.

He'd tell him important things, like:

"Cas, you listening to me?"

"Of course, Dean."

"Whenever there's food _anywhere_ near you, you eat it. Got that?" Dean advised. "You never know where the next meal's gonna come from, and believe me, you don't wanna know how it feels to starve."

"Okay."

"I know you're an angel and you don't need to eat right now but you've been human before," Dean supplied helpfully.

"I understand."

"Good."

But that night Cas found him on the floor would become many other nights he'd find Dean the same way, and for the first time he felt like maybe he could trust somebody who wasn't a one-night stand.

Somebody who wouldn't leave. Who Dean wouldn't dream of leaving.

"There was, uh," Dean began. "There was Sonny's, and he was great. That place was nice. Strict but - you know."

Dean took a deep breath.

"There were other places, when Dad was fed up with me," said Dean. "Never happened to Sammy, dunno why, but he - he put me away when he got sick of me."

Dean stared down the hollow tunnel of the past, when the memories threatened to eat him up like he was being consumed by one of the monsters they hunted.

Hard to deal with a monster that lives inside your head.

"Some places were okay," said Dean. "Some were - not."

And somehow, there was salvation there, in those beautiful placid blue eyes of Castiel's.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," said Castiel. "That should never have happened to you."

He cupped Dean's cheek and it was like paradise and terror all at once.

"Cas," Dean finally said. "Will you make me a grilled cheese sandwich?"

***

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought tae mind - " Dean yodeled as he clomped down the stairs of the bunker.

Sam and Cas looked up at him from the map table.

"Happy New Year!" Dean said, as he threw his duffel on the table. 

Sam grinned.

"Happy New Year," he said.

"This one's gonna be our year, I can feel it," said Dean.

"Don't jinx things like that," said Sam. "I'm gonna start throwing salt over my shoulder."

"We've got a case, maybe," said Dean. "How'd you like to welcome the new year in Hibbing, Minnesota?"

"Well," said Sam, clearing off the table. "It's no New York."

"Hey, don't diss Hibbing," said Dean. "Donna's from there, you know."

Dean turned to Castiel.

"What do you say?" he asked. "Party with D-Train?"

Cas just held his gaze.

"Anywhere you'd like to celebrate will be wonderful, Dean," he said. "You know I enjoy spending time together."

"I - uh -well, the, that's uh, great," said Dean, wondering when all words had suddenly become tongue twisters.

Castiel smiled serenely.

***

As it had turned out, there was no case, apart from a case of beer that Donna had provided.

"There's margarita mix in the fridge, and I got a _ton_ of champagne," Donna said, as people weaved around them standing there.

"Come clean with me," Dean told her. "There was never a case, was there?"

Donna's bright smile faded a bit.

"Yeah, not so much," she said. "But you boys never take a damned break, do ya? And I saw my chance to give you one, I'm gonna take it! Darn tootin'."

"About that weird accent - "

"Dean Winchester, how dare you -"

"I know plenty of Minnesotans and that Fargo fakeout ain't cuttin' it, sweetheart," said Dean.

Donna's grin grew wider, somehow.

"Yeah, well," she said, her voice dropping about an octave lower, the round edges smoothing out. "Gotta say, it sure convinces everybody else. One thing you'll never have to learn is that people treat women like they don't matter. Like they're, I dunno, a support system, a baby machine, all about finding a boyfriend, shoes, whatever stereotype you got."

"So you fake the cornpone accent," said Dean.

"As my hero VI Warshawski says, never underestimate a man's power to underestimate a woman," Donna said, and clinked her beer bottle against the one he held in his hand.

"You're just full of surprises," said Dean, taking a swig and trying very hard not to think about the way he himself treated women over the years.

"Ah, here comes the countdown!" Donna said. "Gotta go find somebody to kiss."

Dean held out his arms.

She gave him a once-over.

"Pft, please," she said, and then grinned, walking away.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he called after her.

His eyes then slid to, and locked on, Castiel's, from where he was leaning against the countertop across the crowded kitchen.

Even from this distance, his gaze was intense. Dean could see the blue of his eyes from here.

"Five! Four! Three!" everyone was shouting.

The thought of kissing Cas crossed his mind.

It made him feel dizzy and stupid.

"One!" everyone shouted. "Happy New Year!"

Dean lifted the bottle to his lips because he had to have something against them.

Castiel never stopped staring.


	3. January 1st - Then

John had never taught his boys about sex.

It just wasn't the kind of thing he felt that fathers should have to do.

"Trust me, son," he had told Dean. "You'll figure it out."

And that was all Dean got in the form of the birds and the bees.

He'd only heard of homosexuality in a vague way on the news, that is, if John didn't have a fit and slam the television off, swearing as he got static shock from the old television.

Dean had no idea what to call what he did. There was Sex For Money and Sex For Free. One was with men, the other with women.

He'd come a long way from the innocent kid he'd been with Robin all those years ago.

And women would go with him easily, but they were blink-and-you-missed-it, memorable as the motels that scattered throughout his and Sam's lives.

The guys, though. Dean wasn't sure what to make of it, just that he knew it was dangerous and maybe shameful, but he had been captivated by a few. They were just as fleeting as the women, but sometimes he wondered if the women felt about him the way he sometimes felt about the guys who were sparked into flame and then guttered and died as he and Sam hunted their way across the lower 48.

Thing was, for him and Sam, there had never been any such thing as privacy. 

Dean would've liked to get a tattoo or twelve, but John's "inspections" would have given him away. 

John never touched them or hit them, but it took Dean longer than he felt it should have to realize that his father's demands for his sons to strip naked so he could "inspect" them for bruises and other injuries (and possibly tattoos) was not the behavior of a normal parent.

But what could he do? It wasn't like Dean had a basis for comparison. Not until he'd met enough other people and seen the hurt and terror in their eyes when he talked about his life, and since those conversations weren't usually about monsters he figured there was something very messed up with what his family had going on.

Dean had kept a journal, once. John found it. He absolutely lost his shit at Dean, and actually fucking salt and burned the thing right in front of both Dean and Sam.

Dean had wept, then, and his father called him some choice words.

Sam had just watched, silent, like he had always watched. The thing about Sam was that he always learned from Dean's mistakes and didn't make them himself. That kid was the most observant human being Dean had the pleasure to know.

***

Dean never had much trouble rolling girls into bed.

There were some nights, though -

ones he'd rather keep buried.

He'd seen on television that Women Were Soft and according to his dad any expression of emotion was girly. 

So part of the plan was sex, of course, but Dean was also looking for something a simple lay couldn't get him. Those nights were alcohol-fueled and the problem with booze was that it could make you a smooth motherfucker or make you an absolute mess.

Midway through the event, Dean would bury his face in the shoulder of the girl of the night and mutter _please love me_. _Please tell me I'm good._

This freaked the fuck out of many of them, leaving his crying ass on the floor. That was when the loneliness snaked through his gut _hard -_ because the other thing about booze was that it meant your own emotions had no filter.

Those mornings, he'd hightail it outta town the second the case was wrapped up.

Other times -

the girl would be understanding. Kind. They'd make love and she'd make him a grilled cheese sandwich.

Those times, Dean would linger, long after the case was finished.

Sam never asked why.

***

Albuquerque went down much the same way.

Dean got drunk, found a girl, made a foolish showing of himself weeping into her shoulder right in the middle of all the action. 

She'd unceremoniously dropped him on his ass, called him a freak, and left him there.

Injured ego and all, he found his way to the local bakery and bought six doughnuts, which he ate until he made himself physically sick.

Sam found him like that, humiliation and shame etched onto his features.

"Dean, what happened?" asked Sam gently, and no, this was not the right way around, Dean took care of Sam, Sam did not take care of Dean, it was like asking a kid to take care of a parent, it wasn't right.

So he plastered on the fakest of smiles, which was kind of ridiculous because Sam could see through it.

Sam had always been able to see through it. 

But out of respect for Dean or some shit he'd never mentioned it. He let Dean have his little moments of pretense, as if Sam feared that his brother might shatter like glass.

"We done here?" Dean snapped, and immediately felt like shit about it, but not shit enough to actually let his little brother into his fucked-up head.

"You - you mean the case?" asked Sam. "Yeah, we're done. Dean, you gotta - "

"I ain't gotta nothin'," said Dean, getting up off the floor and tossing the doughnut box in the garbage. 

He grabbed Dad's old leather jacket off the chair.

"Let's check out and go," said Dean.

Sam just stood there, illuminated in the early morning sun from the windows.

"Dean - "

Dean cut him off.

"I can't fuckin' breathe in this town."


	4. January 1st - Now

"Dean, you're going to freeze to death out here."

Dean nearly startled himself into dropping his cigarette into the snow.

"Damn it, Cas," said Dean.

Castiel laid a hand on Dean's chest and suddenly everything inside it was doing the conga.

"Let me help," murmured Castiel, and Dean's eyes darted from Cas's lips to his blue eyes -

when a flare of grace from his hand warmed Dean all over.

"There," said Cas. "That should take care of the addiction as well as the cancer growing in your left lung."

Dean just stared at him.

_God,_ he wanted to kiss him so bad.

Right. Cas was an angel in a dude suit. He probably had three thousand eyes and a proboscis or something.

Dean wavered a little at the idea of what all Castiel's true form might have and the sexual implications of each possibility.

"Dean?" Castiel inquired.

"I - uh," said Dean. "You're right, it's cold as fuck out here. Just wanted to look at the stars, it's pretty damned crowded in there."

"Oh," said Cas. "Then - "

The world winked out of existence and returned.

Suddenly they stood together on a tropical beach. It was warm, the sand was soft.

"Have a seat," Castiel invited.

"What the - where the hell are we?" asked Dean.

"Key West," said Castiel. "I'm told the stars are beautiful here."

They sat together on the sand, listening to the revelry behind them.

"If you like," said Castiel, "I can take you to the moment the new year happens all across the globe. You can enjoy a glass of champagne for every hour it happens."

Dean goggled at him.

_Or kiss you every time the year turns._

He hoped his thoughts weren't too loud.

Castiel had a strangely knowing smile, but what that meant, Dean could never tell.

"Nah," he said. "This is good enough for me. Thanks, Cas."

He stripped off most of his clothes and waded into the water, looking up at the stars.

He looked back at Castiel, who was watching him, as ever.

"You comin'?" Dean asked.

He wasn't certain what he expected, exactly, mostly to rib Castiel.

But then Cas methodically removed his clothing, trenchcoat, suit jacket, tie, unbuttoned his shirt-

and Dean's mouth went very dry, despite the water around him.

_Shit. He's fuckin' built. **Shit.** Oh my God -_

Castiel took his pants off.

"Whoa, uh, okay there buddy," said Dean. "Don't want to get arrested for indecent exposure."

"That would be very difficult in Key West, Dean," Castiel informed him, and oh no now he was stepping into the water with a kind of grace Dean had never witnessed before on any living being, he walked like he fought, smooth prowling like a panther, and Dean's mind wildly reminded him that this was how Sean Connery got the role of James Bond -

and his eyes were absolutely glued to the thickness of Castiel's thighs, the stars and moon bright enough that Dean could see the muscles working under the skin, drenched in the water.

Now Castiel was a breath away from him, just a touch, less than a foot of distance.

Dean could see the blue in his eyes turned silver by the light.

"C - Cas," he stuttered.

Castiel looked at him curiously.

"Dean, are you cold?" he asked. "You're trembling."

"F- fuck, no," said Dean. "I'm fine."

_Apart from the fact that I've apparently lost my fucking mind._

"Look," Castiel murmured. "Up there, Dean. The stars. See how they shine."

Dean didn't want to tear his gaze away from Castiel's.

But Cas was an angel, Dean reminded himself viciously, and angels couldn't feel, not like humans did.

So he wrenched his gaze away, and looked up at the sky.

The stars reflected on the water, and he saw himself and Castiel there, as if printed onto the cosmos.

He had to admit, it was a spectacular view.

Both up there, and down here.

***

They made it back to Hibbing without anyone really remarking their absence. 

Dean immediately missed the heat. Northern Minnesota was fucking _cold._

"Sorry for the subterfuge, guys," said Donna. "But you gotta let your hair down sometimes, okay? Can't be angsting all the time forever."

"Watch me," said Dean.

"Thanks, Donna," Sam said, and pulled her in for a hug.

Donna hugged Castiel and Dean just the same.

***

"Okay," said Dean, as they drove away the following morning with ziploc baggies full of cookies, "are we gonna find an _actual_ case or more excuses for parties?"

"You two need rest," Castiel intoned. "I cannot fix you forever."

"Fix me?" Dean asked. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, let me see," grumped Castiel. "Cirrhosis, pancreatitis, cancer, sleep deprivation, not to mention the last few women you slept with were _not_ as clean as they claimed - "

"Whoa, okay, Cas, we get the picture," said Dean. "What about Sam?"

"What about me?" asked Sam, looking up from his phone.

"You gotta - Sam's gotta have needed healing," Dean protested.

"From several concussions, yes," said Castiel. "For men who are supposedly such great fighters you two get thrown against walls _a lot._ "

"What, that's it?" Dean demanded. "Just on-the-job stuff?"

"We don't exactly get workman's comp," said Sam.

"Yeah, but - "

"Your brother eats well, takes vitamins, exercises, doesn't drink to excess, doesn't smoke," Castiel said, ticking the list off his fingers like the absolute asshole he was.

"Smoke?" Sam said in a disappointed voice. "Dean, you told me you quit."

"Yeah well I definitely have now," said Dean. "Thanks to nicotine-patch-angel over there."

"Told you that you had an unhealthy lifestyle," Sam said.

"Why does my family torture me?" Dean complained. "Lay off, jeez."

Although a blessed silence ensued in the car, Dean noticed the blissed-out look on the angel's face, the moment the word _family_ left Dean's mouth.

_Huh,_ thought Dean, and filed it away for future reference.


	5. January 2nd - Outside of Tucumcari, New Mexico - Then

Route 66 was decommissioned when Dean was a little kid.

Didn't mean there wasn't still a romance to the idea of it, but Dean had long been a realist about it. Nobody worth their salt used Route 66, overgrown as it was, grass poking out everywhere. He sure as hell wasn't taking the Impala on it, that was certain.

But in Tucumcari, he bought a postcard anyway.

Things came to a head there, faster than Dean would've predicted.

Sam was also getting too suspicious. That's what happened when your kid brother watched everything with those huge, dark eyes. Calculating little shit.

"I told you, I'm hustlin' pool," said Dean. "You can't come, you're not old enough."

"Let me come with you, I'm good at pool," said Sam. "Dad raised us _both_ to be good at pool, Dean."

The kid's face was all innocence but Dean knew him well enough to see that the math behind his eyes was just not adding up. Sam was one for the con, and he was damned good at it.

Unfortunately for him, Dean was too. They were cut from the same cloth, so to speak.

"You stay here," Dean ordered. "Okay? Dad's not here and that means I'm the boss."

"That means that you say if we can have microwave popcorn and ice cream for dinner," said Sam, stubborn. "Not whether I can come with you or not."

"Jesus, Sam, will you just _do as you're told!_ " Dean roared.

Sam got in his way.

"There's something you're not telling me, and I won't let you leave this room until you do."

He crossed his arms and stood in front of the door.

Dean got up in his face and barred his throat with his arm, sharp and sudden.

"You stay _right the fuck here,_ do you understand me, Sammy?" Dean demanded.

Sam's eyes were big and terrified. Dean _never_ treated him like this, _never._

He nodded slowly.

"Good," said Dean. "Now go sit on the bed and watch cartoons."

Sam gave him a baleful look.

"I'm not a kid anymore, Dean," he said, the betrayal in his voice making Dean hate himself even more.

But he stomped over to the bed and sat down on it.

"I'll be back in an hour," said Dean.

"You know," Sam said, in an airy voice that sounded nothing like him, "you're acting exactly like Dad."

The zing of disgust and terror that infused Dean's body made him dart out of the room and slam the door so hard it shook on its hinges.

***

Now that he'd become something of an old hand at the whole truck stop blowjob thing, he got a little too cocky.

When one of the guys was fucking his face, whispering about how pretty he was, like a girl; praising him and his cocksucking lips. Dean kept his hands away from his own junk despite the hard line tenting his jeans -

the guy stuttered, and came, Dean swallowed as per usual.

Then -

"I ain't payin' you, fag. You get off on it, that's payment enough."

Dean was in front of the door in a flash.

"That wasn't the deal."

"Get the fuck outta my way, fag, before I _make_ you."

"Seems like you got off on it just fine," said Dean. "Who's the fag now?"

He knew his smart mouth was bound to get him in trouble.

The guy was beating the living shit out of him before he knew it, and somehow there were more guys, Dean was half-blinded and hadn't registered when they'd shown up or from where. Dean also highly doubted that the guy told them he'd been the john in the first place.

"And I don't wanna see your skanky little ass around here again!" he shouted, giving a final kick to Dean's stomach as they rolled him into the parking lot, beaten and bloody.

Laughing, they went back inside, Dean staring up at the lights of the truck stop from the pavement.

Everything hurt, and he had a jabbing pain in his side. He was sure there were cracked ribs.

Ashamed, and with no money to show for his troubles, he groaned and crawled as far as he could out of the lights, passing out in the darkness among the crushed beer cans and stale piss of the scrub grass that grew beyond the pool of truck stop lights.

His last conscious thought was how lucky he had been that they hadn't decided to kill him.

***

"Dean!" 

Consciousness came slowly. It was not friendly.

"Dean, oh my God," Sam's voice cut through the bleary soup of reality. "Dean, what the hell happened?"

Groaning, Dean tried to sit up.

"We - we gotta get outta here, Sammy," Dean managed to say around a split lip. One of his eyes had already swelled shut.

"Like hell we do," said Sam. "I don't know what the hell you're doing out here, but -"

There was a strange gleam in his eye, like Sam knew exactly what he'd been doing, but Dean guessed that his brother wasn't going to broach the topic.

He slung Dean's arm around his shoulder.

"Think you can walk?"

Dean nodded and instantly regretted it.

"Think so," he said.

Sam helped him across the parking lot and back down the road towards their motel.

Dean was thankful for the blessed silence, the lack of recriminations, the friendly closeness of his brother.

He hoped that Sam would never find out what really happened, what he really did, what had paid for - well, all of it. Dean even started socking some money away in an account for Sam, in case he ever wanted to go to college or something. Get out.

Dean knew he never would.

He cast one last look over his shoulder at the truck stop lights, fading into the distance.

"Monsters I get," he croaked. "People are sick."

***

Later, in the shower, he came against the tiles with a muffled shout, pressing his hand against a painful bruise, thinking of the insults and the beating he'd received.

 _What the fuck is wrong with you,_ he demanded of himself afterwards. _You're pretty fucking sick yourself._

Dean turned off the water with a sigh, wincing against the pain, and went to join his brother who was waiting for him in the other room with antibacterial gel and bandages.


	6. January 2nd - Minneapolis - Now

"That is some hipster shit."

"It's good!" Sam protested.

"Not fuckin' fifteen dollars good," said Dean. "Here's the important food groups, bacon, eggs, English muffin buttered toast _and_ cinnamon raisin buttered toast, and whisky."

"I can't believe you're drinking whisky with breakfast."

"What the hell is artisanal mayonnaise?"

"Good to know that some things will never change."

Dean was riding a high. He was in an honest-to-God traincar diner. He was eating some of the most delicious bacon and eggs ever. He and his brother were getting along, bickering back and forth.

And at his side, just a handsbreadth away - 

his - his -

well. 

Cas.

He was alarmingly aware of how easy it would be to move his hand off his jeans and put it on Castiel's knee. Or his thigh, Dean considered, thinking of how he had looked walking towards him in the water of the Keys. This idea was dangerous, because just the thought of it had him half-hard in his jeans.

_No,_ he rebuked himself. _No! Cas isn't some cheap bar pickup, he's a fucking **angel** , damn it. _

_Don't be getting a bunch of ... of **you** all over him._

Dean's hand reflexively tightened on his knee.

_But if I moved just right, I could maybe hold his hand -_

_What the fuck are you, some kind of fairy?_

Dean knew that last voice.

That one was John's.

"Dean?"

"Huh? What?" Dean shook himself out of his reverie and tore his eyes away from his free hand. He'd been mechanically shoveling bacon and eggs into his mouth while considering the various implications of what he could do with his hand and Castiel.

He clamped down on those thoughts. They were Not Allowed. 

How fucking dare he. Cas was a -

Cas was _holy._

"I asked if you wanted to look into this haunting," said Sam. "Down in Illinois."

"Sure, yeah," said Dean absently. "What's the details again?"

"I seriously just told you," said Sam.

"Dean, are you feeling all right?" asked Castiel. "I could take your temperature."

Cas went to place a hand against his forehead and Dean jolted away from him.

"Don't fucking touch me," he snapped, horrified at what he might do if Cas did, his eyes roll back in his head, maybe even _moan_ -

_You're fucking disgusting. Worthless. Garbage. Piece of shit._

_How fucking dare you dirty something as perfect as Castiel._

"Dean!"

"Maybe I ain't feelin' so hot, guys," Dean finally admitted.

"Something sure is up," said Sam.

Dean's gaze snapped to his brother.

Sam was just looking at him, calm and quiet.

There were depths beneath those still waters.

"Let's get back to the motel and get some shuteye," said Dean.

"It's six o' clock," said Sam.

"Yeah, well, like I said," Dean told his brother. "I ain't feelin' so hot."

***

Back at the motel, Sam and Cas discussed the finer points of the case while Dean faked sleep in the corner bed.

Only this time, he was actually listening.

"Says here that this house has been haunted for years," said Sam. "One night the husband woke up with this woman's face right in his own, mouth black and open on a silent scream."

"But it also says that when that couple moved out, the house was peaceful," said Castiel. "The new owners never had a problem."

"So, what then?" asked Sam. "Ghost haunting the people instead of the place?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"And this couple still lives in the same town?"

"Yeah. Said that things were quiet for a while and then came back up again, even though they live like twenty miles from the house."

"No one has been killed yet."

"No, but I doubt they enjoy waking up in the middle of the night with someone's dead face in their face," Sam said.

Dean listened to the low rumble of Castiel's voice until he started to drift off. He had always found it safe and soothing. Combined with the familiar timbre of his brother's voice, he knew all was safe and quiet in the world, and he could rest, because there was someone here to keep vigil and watch over Sam.

Perks of having a guardian angel, he supposed.

***

Dean woke up in the usual zero-to-sixty way of a hunter.

His gun was in his hand before he even knew what he was about.

"Ah," he panted, "Hah. Just a dream."

He could still see the wide-open black mouth of the woman screaming about an inch from his face.

"Dean."

God, that voice. 

It could rev him up or settle him down.

Now, he felt his muscles relaxing, his attention drowsing, as he looked at Castiel seated in the corner chair, illuminated by the soft light of the lamp on the bedside table.

"Fear not," Castiel murmured, and Dean watched his lips as he spoke. "I'll watch over you."

Dean fell back into bed, tucking his gun away, and snuggled up holding his pillow like a child.

He fell fast asleep.

***

The next morning, Dean didn't even remember he had awoken during the night.

He felt refreshed and well-rested for the first time in a long time.

"How are you feeling this morning, Dean?" asked Castiel sweetly. "Sleep well?"

There was something in his expression that Dean might have called a shit-eating grin if it hadn't been so soft.

"Uh, yeah," he said. "You guys wanna head out on the case?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "Sam has gone to prepare the doughnuts and coffee."

"Cas, you don't _prepare_ doughnuts," said Dean. "They come ready-boxed."

Castiel furrowed his brows at Dean.

"I'm not sure it's in your best interests to eat such unhealthy -"

"And that's all the time we have for that," said Dean. "I'll be in the Impala - unless you're gonna fly there. It's faster than driving."

Castiel gave him another of those rare smiles that made his stomach do stupid things.

"I enjoy riding with you," he said.

***

On the way out of Minneapolis, Dean had to stop for gas.

"There's a truck stop up ahead," said Castiel.

"Absolutely fucking not."

"But - "

"I said _no,_ Cas! Cram it," Dean said.

Sam gave Dean a sympathetic look that Dean pretended he didn't see.

Castiel looked from Sam to Dean, but was none the wiser.


	7. January 3rd - San Diego - Then

"I fucking hate this town."

"At least you're safe."

"Did I mention I fucking hate this town?"

"Once or twice."

***

"Look, it's like they made it at Disneyland. The houses are too perfect, buildings too perfect. The people got their fuckin' noses in the air more than anywhere outside fuckin' Charleston you get what I'm sayin? Fucking drinks cost like twenty bucks. Do you know how many people here are from Flagstaff? And how arrogant _those_ dicks are?"

"Dean, maybe you shouldn't be saying that so loud here on the beach where everybody can hear you."

"They _should_ hear me. Screw 'em. Maybe they'll be better people."

Sam sighed. Dean knew he was being kind of insufferable but he'd always hated the plastic perfection and expense of San Diego.

They sat on the beach together, watching the waves roll in. The sun was bright in a clear blue sky and seagulls wheeled overhead.

"See that down there?" Dean said, pointing at a fence in the sand. "That's the Friendly Fence, on the other side is Tijuana. Fuckin' houses on this side cost millions, the other side, barely a hundred thou, and on the same fuckin' beach. Snobs."

"Are you worried about money?"

Dean glanced at his brother as well as he could with the injured eye.

"Nah. Why do you ask?"

"Because whatever you had going on down there clearly didn't work out," Sam said evenly. "So -"

"Don't worry about it, Sam," said Dean. "We're good. I just hate San Diego. Okay?"

"Okay," said Sam, but his voice was filled with doubt.

"They don't have the same pretentious assholery south of the border."

Sam looked out at the ocean again.

"Dean, do you want to go to Tijuana?"

"You've never had a better idea in your life, Sammy."

***

They'd agreed to meet back at the motel, which was in Dean's opinion a little too obnoxiously clean and bright.

"It's a motel, Sam, not a five-star," said Dean.

"Would it hurt us to stay somewhere nice for a change?" Sam had asked, and Dean winced at the thought, wondering if Sam's steel-trap brain had started chewing on that once he'd sussed out that whatever Dean was doing clearly hadn't made him money that time.

Dean had been doing it long enough by that point he hadn't really had a plan B.

But when Dean got back to the motel, earlier than predicted, Sam was nowhere in sight.

"Where the hell did that kid go now?" asked Dean.

There was ice in his veins when he realized that sometimes _not_ telling his nosy little brother what, exactly, he'd been up to at that truck stop was a bad idea.

***

"You're coming with me _right fucking now!_ " Dean roared. Every part of him ached and now so did his heart.

"Ow, Dean, lay off!" Sam said. "I can walk to the car myself!"

Dean's heart. Oh, Dean's heart. Fuck. 

He'd gone in a panic to every truck stop he could find in the area until he caught Sam innocently walking into one on the very outskirts of town.

"You _never -_ are you fucking listening to me, Sam? You _never_ do this again, you hear?"

"Why?" Sam demanded. "I can sell drugs too! Why's it always gotta be you, Dean?"

Dean was so blindsided by the fact that Sam apparently thought he was selling _drugs_ that his mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"Just - just _because,_ okay?! You got drugs on you right now?" Dean said, rapidly screaming at himself _yeah go with that! Better he thinks you're a drug dealer than -_

_than what you are._

" _Why?_ " Sam barked back at him. "What're you gonna do, _inspect me_ like Dad does?"

Dean recoiled.

"God, no," he said. "Sam, _no._ "

Dean hated this, hated having this fight in the parking lot of a truck stop, hated that he couldn't just pick Sam up and drop him into the back of the Impala anymore, the kid was such an overgrown yeti.

" _Because,_ Sam, you have a future," Dean yelled. "You can go to college, or - or, hell, I don't know, anything! You can get out."

"So what, this is just you pushing me out of the fire, sacrificing yourself so that _you_ burn up?" Sam demanded. "Dean, we're _free._ We don't actually have to hunt! It's not like Dad's checking up on us or anything."

"Sam -"

"Well, is he?" Sam demanded. "Has he called?"

"It's only been a few days -"

" _He left. He left us, Dean, why can't you see that?_ " Sam shouted.

And Dean was alarmed to realize that the waterworks were on their way.

"Shh, shh, I'm sorry," said Dean, approaching his baby brother as Sam's shoulders began to shake and tears pour down his cheeks. 

He wrapped Sam up in a tight hug.

"Yeah, it sucks," said Dean. "And I'm sorry for yelling. I just don't want you to end up - "

_Like me._

"Bad. Okay?"

Sam snuffled into his shoulder.

"Yeah, okay," he said, in a muted little voice.

"Okay," Dean said. "And no more truck stops. All right?"

"For me or you?" Sam asked.

For some reason, Dean couldn't find it in himself to lie at that moment, and he knew what his future probably held.

"For you," said Dean. "You gotta understand that - sometimes we do what we have to, okay?"

"Dean -"

"No arguing. C'mon, what do you say? Let's go to Tijuana."

Sam wiped his eyes and grinned down at his brother.

"Okay."

***

Dean left the Impala in the motel parking lot. He wasn't interested in taking her south of the border, and it was a lot faster to get there on foot anyway.

Besides, he was planning on a bender, and the last thing he wanted to do was wrap her around a telephone pole down there.

Sam was looking forward to it as well. It was going to be his first hurrah - not quite of age, not yet, but they didn't care so much about that sort of thing down there. And it was his first time away from John.

 _Their_ first time away from John, but Dean wasn't going to think about that.

So Dean ignored anything that might look like a hunt, and they boarded the train that would take them to the American border, Sam's eyes glowing with excitement.


	8. January 3rd - Rockford - Now

"And you've seen this ghost since you moved?"

"Yes," said Dolores, who had not needed all the FBI crap to talk with them, since she was well-aware she was haunted.

She poured them all tea from a white ceramic pot with flowers.

Dean liked it, and then immediately quashed that feeling.

Just something else he wasn't supposed to like. 

He was supposed to be a man. What the hell was wrong with him? And why didn't Sam have these problems?

Maybe Sam did, but just never talked about it. Dean did have a habit of running his mouth.

He turned his attention to Castiel, but wasn't about to find any solace in that quarter. Watching his angel buddy wrap those long fingers and big hands around the mug he was holding did not do anything for anything.

Dean hated himself just a little bit more. It was impressive, how much there still seemed to be. He'd initally thought that he'd finally hit rock bottom, only to find there were layers and layers beyond it. Dean had long known the truth of it: he was a fucking nightmare.

"Not to me," murmured Castiel against his mug, as the steam rose against his face. "Never to me."

"What?" asked Dean, turning to look at Cas.

But the angel gave him a cool stare as if he had said nothing at all. 

Dean began to doubt it himself.

"Anyway," said Dolores, "I thank you boys for coming and offering to get rid of her but honestly I have no idea where she'll pop up again. She's the most terrifying thing I have ever seen in my life but if you want the honest truth - well."

Sam, Dean, and Cas waited expectantly.

"She's begun to grow on me," said Dolores, with a helpless little wave of her hand. "She doesn't really do much but hang there midair, a little too close to my face for comfort, but that's all she's ever done. I've been thinking, lately. Maybe she's lonely. Is it lonely to be a spirit? I imagine it must be."

Dolores sighed and arranged her little throw pillows.

Dean wondered how rich you needed to be in order to have throw pillows. They were things he associated with a stable life, a home, a place to go back to. You wouldn't buy pillows for no reason otherwise.

"Once I'd made my peace with her, you can't imagine what happened," said Dolores.

"Try us," said Sam.

"I came into the kitchen one morning and sandwiches were being made," she said. "Peanut butter and jelly! All the bread got used up, but -"

She shrugged.

"It was inelegant," she said. "But she's been helping around the house now, and -"

"You are aware that most spirits will become vengeful," said Castiel.

"I've been told, yes," said Dolores. "But maybe that's because we don't treat them right."

She smiled.

"Like I said," she told them, "thank you for making the trip, but I don't need your services. I think we're all happy here."

***

Walking down the steps of Dolores's house, the wheels in Dean's mind were endlessly turning.

"Maybe she's got a point," said Sam. "I mean, we're pretty much - kill first, ask questions never. And it's not like it'd be the first time we've encountered nice monsters."

"I think it's much like it is with humans," said Castiel. "Some good, some bad. I'm not sure hunting down everything that isn't human isn't - kind of judgemental."

"Are you saying we're interspecies racists, Cas?" Dean joked.

As they stood outside the car, Castiel leveled that gaze at him again.

Dean always felt like he was caught in an alien tractor beam whenever Cas did that, like he was powerless to resist being drawn in.

"I'm a monster myself," said Cas, "according to your definition."

Dean scoffed.

"You're an angel," he said. "It's different."

"Is it?" asked Castiel. "We possess human bodies. We murder fairly indiscriminately. We are creatures beyond human ken and yet we bend them to our will, should we wish to. Consent may be important but there are always get-out clauses. Dean, I have appendages you can't even imagine."

Dean choked on his own throat.

Sam pounded his back as he spluttered and coughed.

When he felt well enough, he finally shook his head.

"That's different," he wheezed. "You're different, okay?"

"How?"

"Just - just get in the car."

"All right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghost based on a combination of 2 "true ghost stories", one from the US and one from England.


	9. January 4th - Tijuana - Then

"Your turn."

"What _turn,_ Dean, I don't have any money."

Dean slid a few pesos over the table.

"Now you do."

"Lazy-ass."

"Don't I know it."

Dean grinned at his little brother, who grinned back, and went up to the bar for the next round.

Dean was delightfully tipsy, the weather was fantastic, Sam got to see the sun setting over the ocean for the first time and his first mariachi band. Plus, some girl kept giving him eyes from the bar. 

Despite the lingering pain of his injuries, Dean was having a wonderful time. It had been ages since he'd felt this good, ages since he and Sam seemed to be on the same page.

"Here you go," said Sam, sliding a beer across the table to Dean.

Dean raised it in a toast.

"Sam, I've been thinking," said Dean. "What you said about - maybe taking a break. It's not like Dad is ever gonna know."

"What, really?" asked Sam.

"Yeah. Like, we travel all over the country but we've never really _seen_ it, you know what I mean?" Dean asked, warming to his topic. "Let's go spend the year doing all the touristy shit. Like tonight, hell, I ain't felt this good since - "

"Me too," said Sam. "And, don't take this the wrong way, Dean, but I think Dad being out of the picture might have something to do with it."

"Aw, Sam, don't start," said Dean. "I was in a great mood."

"Okay, I'll leave it," said Sam. "Just putting it out there. Anyway, have you noticed that girl staring at me?"

"Yes I have, little brother," said Dean. "And you have my blessing, if you wanna go shoot your shot."

"Really?" asked Sam. "Are you sure you're okay being left alone here?"

"Hey, you're assuming you're gonna get anywhere with her," said Dean. "Horse, then cart."

"But if I do?"

"You make the best of it," said Dean. "We don't get a lot of that in this life."

Sam beamed.

"You're the best," he said.

"You'll check in tomorrow morning," Dean reminded him. "Not first light, I ain't welcoming a hangover that fast, but - "

"Ten am sharp, like we agreed," said Sam. "I promise."

He pushed his chair back, grabbed his beer, and went to talk to the girl.

Dean smiled after him. He knew that Sam would hit it off with her, the kid was charming, especially with the puppy dog eyes.

He was used to drinking alone anyway.

After Sam and the girl had made their escape and Dean had lost count of the beers, he hit the head.

The bathroom was strangely clean for such a little dive, but Dean figured sometimes people who had less took better care of it.

The bathroom also contained another man, one of the handsomest Dean had ever had the fortune to encounter. He looked almost exactly like Lou Diamond Philips as Chavez y Chavez, in Dean's secret favorite Western, _Young Guns II._

"Hey," said Dean. "Uh. Hola."

The guy gave him a quick smile, his teeth bright against his dark skin.

"Hey yourself," said the guy, washing his hands. 

He held Dean's gaze.

"Something I can help you with, _cariño_?" asked the guy.

He turned and approached Dean.

Dean just stared at the floor, and ached, and _wanted._

He knew Tijuana was a hard town, there were some rough characters. This guy was tattooed all over, lean-limbed and muscular. Dean prepared for a rough fucking against the sink.

But much like the surprisingly-clean bathroom, Dean was startled when the man chuckled in a puff of air against Dean's cheek and said:

"Then come with me, _cariño_. Not here. I have a room nearby."

Dean had to make a decision quickly, and since Sam was already off somewhere with the girl, he mutely nodded. Maybe it'd be easier on his bruises to get a rough fucking on a thin bed in one of those hourly motels.

***

This night was apparently full of surprises, because Dean found himself in a beautiful white room overlooking the sea. The waves crashed on the shore and the stars shone down onto the beach.

"My name is José," said the man.

"Dean," said Dean, glad to have gotten it out of the way so they could get to the main event.

Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it sure wasn't for José to kiss him tenderly on the lips, then graze his lips against the bruises of his face.

"You are so beautiful," said José, "why have they done this to you?"

"Got myself into a situation I shouldn't have," Dean mumbled.

He stared up at José as the man undressed him slowly, lavishing praise and kisses on every part of him.

"It is my great fortune to have found you," said José. "Gorgeous. Beautiful. You deserve the world."

Tears pricked at the back of Dean's eyelids. He felt himself spinning dangerously out of control. This wasn't how it was supposed to go! This was - 

this utter stranger was _making love_ to him, on a clean bed, in front of a beautiful expanse of sand lit up in the darkness by the moon and stars, like Dean _mattered,_ like he _deserved_ nice things, like he had any right to be kissed like this or talked to like this or in a nice clean motel on a soft bed like this with a man as terrifyingly handsome as José -

and everything curdled in his stomach at once, and he shoved José away and said "No!"

Dean grabbed his stuff and hightailed it out of there, leaving José looking confused and hurt, calling "Dean?" after him.

Dean resolved, after that, never to give up his real name to anybody.

Hearing it in the rounded syllables dropping from José's mouth made it almost sound beautiful, and Dean didn't think his name should ever sound like that.

Men weren't supposed to be like José. They were supposed to be rough and hard and cruel. 

Dean was confused as hell.

Still drunk, he found his way into the motel room he was sharing with Sam halfway across town. He thanked his lucky stars nobody had jumped him.

Dean collapsed against the side of the bed and balled his hand into a fist. He started punching himself hard, in the side, in the places where the bruises were healing, for even thinking, for a _moment,_ he deserved the beautiful words of praise José had poured out against his skin.

***

Sam found him slumped against the bed in the morning. His joyful expression turned to horror when he saw Dean look up at him with bleary eyes.

"How'd it go?" Dean slurred. "Didja get any?"

Sam rolled his eyes in disgust, pushing Dean towards the shower.

"I wish you'd knock it off with the tough guy act," Sam muttered. "It makes you look like a fucking idiot. I wish you'd just be honest with me, honest with _yourself_ for once."

Dean muttered something about how at least he was a _real man_ and not all sensitive nancy-boy like Sam.

"Sure, Dean," said Sam, and shut the door behind his brother. "You wanna be exactly like Dad, you go right ahead."

***

If Sam heard Dean's sobs echoing against the tiles, he never brought it up.

The thing was, Dean already knew he couldn't be like their Dad, no matter how desperately he wished for it. Liking guys in _any_ capacity already meant he was lesser-than, not macho enough, nowhere near masculine enough to even dream of being a man like John Winchester. Dean hated himself, was sick of himself, because no matter what he did, he just could not make himself work right.

None of that was Sam's fault. His little brother didn't deserve any of that. Besides, Dean had promised Sam a year's vacation from hunting monsters.

Dean realized he had been a fucking tool, all in the name of protecting his kid brother who, he had to admit, wasn't really a kid anymore.

After he got out of the shower, Dean went to the local health food store and bought Sam some of those health bars he liked so much, and apologized.

Sam forgave him, even though Dean didn't really deserve it, and then told his brother about his adventures the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Young Guns II_ is the best Western movie ever made, no matter what the purists say about it. There's a lot of Billy the Kid in Dean Winchester.
> 
>  _Hey. I'll make you famous._
> 
> :)


	10. January 4th - Chicago - Now

They'd gotten into Chicago very late, and Dean was bone-tired from driving.

Not that the drive from Rockford to Chicago was all that bad, it was a little over an hour, so almost nothing in Dean's estimation. Driving all the way to Rockford just to find out there was no case gave Dean a sense of tiredness he didn't know he had.

He muttered his goodnights to his brother and to Castiel, who sat in a wingback chair against the wall, presumably to watch over the Winchesters while they slept. The chair was a buttery yellow, the walls were that fakey wood-print to give it a gentlemen's club look.

Not the stripping kind, but the stuffy British kind Dean had seen in magazines as a kid.

And he couldn't deny there was something very hot and somewhat dominant about the way Castiel looked in that chair. Add a fireplace and a glass of brandy, giving commands in that low growl of a voice, and Dean saying _yes, sir_ , just made him shiver.

Fortunately for Dean's runaway libido, exhaustion won out, and he went under before Sam had even returned from brushing his teeth.

The next thing Dean knew was light, and love.

Warmthsuffused his entire being, his lower back arched in immediate response as he panted out a soft breath. He was loved, he was _loved,_ he could feel it in every part of him, the adoration almost painful, tingling along his lower spine, and he utterly surrendered, gave himself over to this beautiful ocean, he was submerged but he was safe, safe, _safe,_ and helpless, he came all over his stomach while the light that bathed him whispered _beautiful, beautiful, beautiful._

When he opened his eyes, he immediately understood what had happened and waited for the shame of it to come crashing in.

But there was nothing, maybe just a little embarrassment in the giddy way. He felt light, and strange, and _good._

"Mornin', Cas," he said as he passed the angel sitting up straight in the wingback chair beside the table.

Dean noticed the pink color high on Castiel's cheeks.

"Hello, Dean," said Castiel.

"It's a great morning, ain't it?" said Dean, whistling to himself.

"Yes," Castiel agreed absently. "Beautiful."

Dean froze at the word.

He turned his head and stared at Castiel.

Castiel stared back at him.

"Hi guys!" Sam chirped as he exploded into the motel room with all the subtlety of a brick. "I got coffee and doughnuts!"

Dean dropped his gaze and turned away to brush his teeth.

As Sam chatted on, he felt acutely aware of Castiel's presence behind him.

He couldn't see, but could _feel_ Castiel watching him, with those detached, alien eyes.


	11. January 5th - Tuba City - Then

"Dean, can we - can we maybe slow down?"

"I'm already doin' ten over the speed limit, Sammy, no can do."

"Not that. I mean - um. We're just bouncing from place to place, kinda - I mean, I know we do that, but, let's catch our breath a little?"

"You want to _stay in one place_ longer than a couple days? Sam, do you _want_ Dad to find us?"

The desert breeze blew hot in through Sam's window, ruffling his too-long hair.

"No, of course not," said Sam. "But ever since what happened -"

"Sam - "

"No, I'm gonna say it," said Sam. "You gotta _heal,_ Dean. I thought you would, in Tijuana - I know you love it there. But you ran scared."

"I ain't _scared -_ "

"Then what is it?"

"We're broke."

The silence in the Impala meant that Sam understood _broke_ meant _too broke to buy anything more than another tank of gas, maybe._

Dean was terrified of going hungry again - not for himself, so much, he was used to suffering, but for Sam. He'd always given Sam more food and starved himself, not that he looked it. He'd cultivated a reputation for being a pig because he'd eat anything handed to him but that was because he'd gone without so many times.

Not that he didn't regret it a little when Sam shot up several inches above him. 

"Okay," said Dean, who always relented when it was Sam asking. "Look out for hobo signs, we'll take a cruise through whatever towns are coming up and see what we see."

"Next town is - Tuba City," said Sam. 

"That ain't exactly a metropolis," said Dean.

"Yeah."

"Well, we'll start there. Don't get your hopes up."

***

As it turned out, one of the houses _did_ have a hobo sign on it, one that indicated a place to stay and sleep.

"That's some weird luck," Sam commented, as they got out of the car and stood in front of the little house.

It was rose-pink, with paving stones leading up to it and desert cacti in the yard, surrounded by little stones. The front had an archway twined with roses, which Dean saw on closer inspection were made of plastic.

They knocked on the door.

A little old Hopi woman answered it. Her hair was black and white, held back in a braid.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi, we, uh, we saw the sign on your house," said Dean.

"Oh! Are you travelers?" she said, clapping her hands, her dark eyes shining. "Oh, it's been such a long time! Come in, come in!"

The scent of cooking wafted out to them. Dean did not waste a second in walking through that door with Sam in tow. 

The house was homey and warm, with a little kitchen and a living room beyond it. A large window looked out onto a deck and a small backyard.

"My name is Sola," she said. "I'm just making some tacos, would you boys like to help?"

"Sure," said Sam. "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean."

"Welcome," she said. She indicated a little breakfast bar where some blue corn tortillas were laid out. "If you'd like to roll the meat into the tortillas we can take the food out into the backyard together and you can tell me stories."

She grinned wide at them. Dean loved her immediately.

"It's strange, I made too much food," she said. "I suppose that should have told me I would have visitors."

Sam and Dean sat at the counter and helped her roll the meat into the tortillas. Then they went outside into a neat little garden that overlooked the mesas in the distance.

The sun was about to set.

"My husband loved drifters," she told them as they ate. "He's long passed now of course, but I kept the sign up on the house, just in case anyone came searching."

"Thank you," said Sam. "We appreciate it."

"And the food," said Dean. "It's absolutely delicious."

"You're welcome," she said. "Now, why don't you boys tell me what put you on the road?"

***

It was late when they'd finished talking and Dean was nodding off.

Sola showed them to their rooms - and they each had a separate one. The house wasn't huge but there were four bedrooms. 

"Sleep tight, my darlings," said Sola, tucking Dean in although he was way too old for that kind of thing.

He didn't complain, though.

He listened to her do the same for Sam.

Dean fell asleep and slept hard, as if he had found the first safe place in his life.

In the morning, they ate omelettes together.

Sola patted his cheek and looked at his eye, now healing, but didn't ask questions.

"My boys," she said, and that was all.

***

Later, out in the yard, Sam and Dean were moving a small fountain that Sola wanted to put a little further away from the house in the corner.

"Hey," said Dean, as they settled the heavy marble fountain in place.

"Yeah," said Sam, sweaty and dirty from the work. He rubbed his forehead and looked at Dean.

"I just wanted to say," Dean said. "I'm - I'm sorry for what - for everything, Sam. Okay?"

Sam gave him a look of understanding.

"That's okay," he said.

"No, I mean - c'mere," said Dean, and led Sam to the edge of the deck, indicating he should sit down. Sam did so, and Dean sat beside him.

"I'm not - ready to talk about what happened to me back there," said Dean. "Hell, I may never be. But I haven't been fair to you. I keep tryin' to put on a brave face, be tough, all that shit Dad wanted, I dunno. It's hard, Sam. And - "

"Dean, you don't have to shoulder the burden alone," Sam said. "Not anymore. Okay. We're a team. And if you want the honest truth, this week has been the best of my life, without Dad. Okay? Even with your crabby ass."

Dean smiled a little.

"You really mean that?"

"Of course I do," said Sam. "I'd rather live on the road with you, okay? You've looked out for me all these years, who's been looking out for you? Not Dad. And I know you don't want to accept it, but I'm all grown up now. So it's my turn to take care of you. We take care of _each other_ now. Got it?"

Dean hung his head, but he was still smiling.

"Got it."

"On the road as _equals._ That means sharing the burden, too."

"Okay," said Dean.

Sam gathered him up in a hug.

"When did you get to be the big brother," murmured Dean into his shoulder.

"You'll always be my big brother," said Sam. "I'm just the taller one."

"Overgrown yeti."

"Tragically short."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Would you boys like some lemonade?" asked Sola.

They turned to look at her, and she gave them a puzzled look.

"Don't you two be fighting now," she said.

"We're not fighting, Sola," said Sam. "We're just teasing each other."

They took the lemonade from the tray.

"Good," said Sola, grinning at them. "Now you boys get washed up for dinner. I'm ordering pizza."

"You said the magic word," said Dean.

"Pizza," said Sam.

Sola just beamed at them, and then turned around, going back into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is dedicated to my own "Sola" - thank you for your generosity and kindness, your understanding and your stories. You are missed. <3


	12. January 5th - Chicago, Second Day - Now

There were times, even in their crazy lives, where all was still and silent.

Sam, Dean, and Cas were eating breakfast in a local diner. Sam was looking at something on his phone, Dean was reading the paper, Cas was -

well, Cas was looking at Dean, but since he didn't eat, Dean supposed he had to do something with his time.

"Will ya stop staring at me," Dean said, glancing over at Cas as he turned the page and then picked up his coffee.

"Apologies," said Cas, who turned away from him and started staring at Sam instead.

"Hey, uh," said Dean, finding that he didn't actually like this turn of events all that much, "do we have a lead on anything?"

Cas turned back to him and Dean didn't understand the little joyful flip his stomach made.

"Nothing 'in your wheelhouse', so to speak," said Castiel, and Dean grinned when he saw the angel do actual finger quotes. "But there has been a disturbance I've noticed. It's nationwide, and reports are increasing."

"Oh?" asked Sam, finally pulled away from whatever fascinating thing was on his phone. "What's that?"

"There are reports," said Castiel, "of what they're calling _shadow people_ showing up and - "

"Killing?" Dean interjected. 

"No, that's the strange part," said Castiel. "They're saving people."

"Is that normal?" asked Sam.

"Well, angels haven't exactly been doing it," said Dean. "Ain't that supposed to be your job?"

" _You_ are my job," said Castiel. "I've been healing both of you, haven't I? I saved you both from hell - "

"Yeah, bang-up job you did, too," Dean retorted. "Left me to crawl outta my own grave, were you like _yep good enough!_ and then poof? Seriously, I coulda died crawling outta there, and then where would you be?"

Cas opened his mouth to answer and then shut it again, looking embarrassed.

"And Sam without a soul," Dean persisted.

"Dean, will you shut up for a second?" said Sam. "I'm sure you did your best, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam," said Castiel, glaring at Dean.

"Touchy, touchy," said Dean. "Please, continue."

Castiel looked like he wanted to smite Dean, then rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"As I was saying," he continued, "these shadow-people apparently show up when things are looking bad, and they - get in the way."

"Huh," said Dean, crunching down on bacon. "Sounds like they're stealing our jobs."

"Is this something we need to address?" asked Sam. "Because I'm telling you, Cas, it kind of sounds like they're a good thing."

"How often do we run into _good things_ in your line of work?" asked Castiel.

"Yeah, Cas is right," said Dean. "Other shoe's gonna drop at some point. We gotta find out more about these shadow-people, find out their angle, find out how to destroy them."

"Are you sure?" asked Sam. "Dean. Remember Sola?"

Dean sat back. He set down the newspaper.

"Wow," he said. "Sola. I haven't thought about her -"

"In years, yeah," said Sam. "Remember what she told us? What she said to you, specifically?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "I do. But what evidence do we have of anything like that, Sam? I'd love to be all kumbaya about things but Sola didn't live our lives."

"I guess."

"Look, there's not much to go on right now," said Dean. "So I say we focus on something a little more local. You seen the news reports this morning?"

"I, uh," said Sam, blushing a little. "No."

"No?" asked Dean. "Then what the hell were you doing on your phone?"

"Texting," said Sam.

"Texting who? Yeah, go right ahead, Sam, text away while people are dying," said Dean.

"Dean, that's _enough_."

Dean looked sharply at Castiel.

Cas was giving him that same cool, dominant stare he remembered from the night before.

Dean turned to jelly.

"Uh, okay, sorry Cas," he mumbled.

Sam gave Dean a startled look.

"You have to teach me how to do that," said Sam.

"No you don't," snapped Dean. He settled down immediately, though, with the warning of Castiel's raised brow in his peripheral vision. "Sorry, Sam. Think I'm on edge, a little bit. Got some memories resurfacing I'd really have liked to forget."

"That's all right," said Sam. "You're forgiven. So, what did you see?"

"You guys ever hear of black-eyed children?"

Sam gave him a puzzled look.

"No?" he said. "I mean, I've seen kids possessed by demons."

"Hell, you were all eyes when you were a kid," Dean grinned at his brother. "You saw _everything._ Man. I wish I was half as observant as you were back then."

"Well, not acting like a bull in a china shop helps."

Dean narrowed his eyes. He let it drop.

"Anyway, this is apparently an all-new thing," said Dean. "Black-eyed children show up on doorsteps, in the corner of bedrooms, standing on the side of the road, whatever."

"Yeah but then what?"

"What?"

"Do they...do anything, or just stand there?"

"Uh, says here that after they show up a lot of unfortunate circumstances happen to the people who let them in," said Dean.

Sam frowned in that way he had. Dean had always thought it was impressive.

"Do we need to - stop them or anything?" said Sam. "Sounds like these shadow-people."

"Well, the thing is, they seem to have upped their game," said Dean. "Now, everywhere that reported a sighting of black-eyed children has been the site of a murder here in Chicago."

"Oh," said Sam. "Then I guess it is our kind of thing."

"That's what I thought," Dean agreed. "Let's finish up here and we can go talk to people."

"Sounds good," said Sam. "I'm right behind you."


	13. January 6th - Sola's House - Then

"If you boys wash the dishes for me, there are some beers in the fridge for you."

"Okay, Sola," called Sam. "Thanks!"

Dean and Sam stood at the sink, one washing, one drying. They had spent the day doing odd jobs around the house and had gone grocery shopping with Sola. 

They took the beers out back to watch the sun set over the mesas.

"Nice to have a well-earned beer because of running errands instead of digging gore out of my ears in the shower," said Sam.

"Yeah, some of that shit does _not_ come off," Dean agreed.

They sat there in silence for a moment, just taking in the scenery.

"We could stay," Dean blurted out. "Here. With Sola, I mean."

Sam gave him a quizzical look.

"I don't think _adopting two drifters_ was on Sola's schedule this week," said Sam. "Besides, aren't you always worried about what would happen if Dad finds us?"

_She could adopt us. We could be **her** sons._

Dean didn't voice these thoughts or confront the fact that he was already an adult so any chances of his having that kind of family were out the window.

"Yeah, I guess," he said. "Just thinkin' out loud."

"Speaking of Dad finding us," said Sam, "I wanted to tell you something."

Dean gave his brother a suspicious look, because the waver in Sam's voice made it sound like whatever this revelation was, it would be earth-shattering.

"I've already started applying to colleges," Sam confessed. "I got a PO box for the admissions letters, if I ever get them."

Dean's train of thought derailed entirely.

_why does everybody leave me_

He just stared.

"So," said Sam, apparently encouraged by Dean's silence, "since you said we could do whatever we wanted this year, I thought - would you be willing to drive me up to Stanford? It's my dream school and I'd like to take a few tours, look around, see what you think. Your opinion would mean the world to me."

_No, absolutely not_ failed to come out of Dean's mouth.

He always had a hard time saying no to that kid.

"Sure, of course," he said out loud, while his heart was breaking.

He didn't want to be alone.

He _especially_ didn't want to be alone with John.

***

Dean never had a difficult time running off at the mouth.

He had always had a difficult time in really _talking._

"There's something I gotta tell you, too," he said. "And the first part of it is _sorry._ "

"Dean, you don't have to - "

"Shut up and let me do this before I change my mind."

Sam nodded and waved his beer in a way that was meant to communicate _continue._

"I hate it, Sam," said Dean. "I hate being us."

He took a deep breath.

"Not living on the road," he said. "That part, I love. Even fighting monsters. I like to think there are a bunch of people alive out there right now who wouldn't have been, if not for us."

"I'm sensing a _but_ here," said Sam. Dean nodded.

"I was _just a kid,_ Sam," Dean said. "I know you were a baby, and you don't remember, but everyone treats you better, takes care of you. _I remember what happened_ and I'm just supposed to, what, cram it all down? _Be strong for your brother, Dean._ I was four!"

Dean could feel the tears pricking at his eyes and he willed them away.

"Shoulda been playin' with Tonka trucks," Dean muttered. "Anyway. I miss Mom like - like it's an open wound. But here's the thing, Sam."

He rubbed a hand over his face.

"I don't remember her."

Dean glanced at his brother, who was just watching him with that weird all-seeing expression on his face. He took courage in Sam's silence.

"Dad instilled a kind of - of worship of her, in me," said Dean. "He just harped on and on and on about her. But I was _four,_ Sam, you don't remember much of anything from that time in your life and - "

Here, Dean lowered his voice as if John might actually overhear them.

"I think it's just an excuse," he whispered. "I think he's using her death as an excuse. He just wants revenge because it's _what a man would do_ in his narrative."

Dean blinked up at the stars, as if he couldn't really believe he'd just said all that out loud.

"That's because in Dad's narrative, there's only one kind of man," Sam said. "There's no such thing as what _a man_ would, or wouldn't, do."

Sam gave him a look Dean could not really interpret.

"But thank you for telling me," he said.

"I'm glad we're here," Dean said. "I like Sola."

"Me, too."

***

"Sam, my darling, could you run out to my car and put the soil into the shed?"

Sola came outside and sat on the deck with the two of them.

Sam jumped up immediately, disappearing through the screen door, which banged shut behind him.

"Sorry!" Sam called through the house.

"How are you doing, my darling?" she asked Dean.

"Sam's gonna go to college and leave me," he said, and then gave her a startled look.

Sola just smiled.

"It seems you two have never had much of a break in your lives," said Sola. "Hunting monsters must take it out of you."

Now Dean was really surprised.

"How did you - "

"My husband and I have housed drifters for a long time, my darling," she said. "You think you're the first hunters who've come through here?"

She looked up at the twilight, and the stars that were coming out in the dark desert sky.

There was a thump behind him. 

Dean half-turned to see that his brother had dropped one of the soil bags onto the deck. The look of startled shock on his face told him that Sam had overheard everything.

"Sorry," Sam muttered, and hefted the soil bag over his shoulder again, taking it out to the shed.

"I've known men like you before," she said. "Not just hunters, of course. There are more women hunting than men."

"What?"

"You think your story is a man's story," laughed Sola. "I've always found that funny. Drifters who come through here, thinking they're Clint Eastwood or something."

Sola shook her head.

"Most drifters and hobos I've met were women," she said. "Hunters, too. You might like to talk to them."

"Everyone we've met was a mother or a wife or a daughter of a hunter," said Dean.

"That's your problem, Dean," she told him. "That's _your_ narrative, and your father's, I suspect. All I'm saying is - the world is much different in reality than it is in the way you see it. Take my clan, for example - matriarchal and matrilineal. And yet how many people - historians, anthropologists, people you meet in bars - insist there's no such thing?"

"I - I guess I've never thought about it."

"Or you were trained not to," said Sola, as Sam returned to the deck and sat down with them. "There's a real danger in seeing the world the way you do, in such black and white terms. It might lead you down the wrong path."

"We fight monsters," said Sam. "That makes us heroes."

"Certainly not to the monsters."

"Yeah, but they're _monsters_ ," said Dean.

Sola reached forward and took their hands, one of theirs in each of hers.

"My darlings," said Sola, and when she smiled, her face wrinkled up like a friendly raisin in a way that Dean found irresistably charming. "All your father taught you about were monsters. There are good stories too. Happy stories! Sometimes, even the monster gets his happy ending."


	14. January 6th - Chicago, Third Day - Now

There wasn't much in Dean's life that getting blackout drunk in a deserted parking lot next to broken beer bottles and the Impala couldn't fix.

He preferred a field, but this was Chicago, so he'd make do.

He put the whisky bottle to his lips again and wondered whether all drunks end up in the same ditch. Whether they're in a highrise loft apartment or down here brown-bagging it, they're all the same kind of asshole.

Dean was hellbent on believing he was garbage and then going out of his way to prove it.

A new song started to play on the car radio. Dean recognized it, and then paid attention to the words, and promptly regretted it.

" _Would you know my name_

_if I saw you in heaven?_

_Would it be the same_ _If I saw you in heaven?_

_I must be strong_

_And carry on_

_'Cause I know I don't belong_

_Here in heaven_

_Would you hold my hand  
_

_If I saw you in heaven?  
_

_Would you help me stand  
_

_If I saw you in heaven?_

_I'll find my way  
_

_Through night and day  
_

_'Cause I know I just can't stay  
_

_Here in heaven_

_Time can bring you down  
_

_Time can bend your knees  
_

_Time can break your heart  
_

_Have you begging please  
_

_Begging please_

_Beyond the door  
_

_There's peace, I'm sure  
_

_And I know there'll be no more  
_

_Tears in heaven_

_Would you know my name  
_

_If I saw you in heaven?  
_

_Would it be the same  
_

_If I saw you in heaven?_

_I must be strong  
_

_And carry on  
_

_'Cause I know I don't belong  
_

_Here in heaven_

_'Cause I know I don't belong  
_

_Here in heaven._ "

The levee broke, as it always did. 

He'd never found a whisky strong enough to hold back the tears.

Dean pressed his palm to his face and felt like he was going to throw up his own lungs.

"God, Cas, can't you just - fucking _stay,_ " he muttered to himself. "How many times I gotta bury you, man?"

There was a tell-tale _whup-whup_ sound of wings and feathers.

Castiel was there, suddenly, holding his chin and looking into his eyes.

"Dean, you were in distress," said Castiel. "What is it?"

Dean grabbed his wrist.

"Stop dying on me!" he said, hating how his voice sounded. 

"I'm right here," said Castiel, in that soothing rumble. "I'm not dead."

He held Dean's face for just a beat too long before dropping his hand.

"No, I mean," said Dean, stumbling to his feet, nearly tripping over them and catching himself on the hood of the Impala. He straightened out and attempted to point at Cas, but this was apparently a bad idea because he almost went over again. So he leaned against the car instead.

"I mean, you're always dyin' and sacrificin' yourself for me and, and."

"You're worth it."

Dean peered at him as if he couldn't see him.

"I - you," said Dean. "What if I _want_ you _around, Cass-tee-ell?_ "

He tried to fold his arms. Also a bad idea.

"What if - if all this sacrificing yourself is causing me more pain than whatever big bad we're dealin' with? Whaddaya gonna do 'bout _that_?"

Cas now looked hunted, and very surprised.

"You - " he said, and visibly swallowed. "You mean that?"

"Hell yeah I do," he said. He pitched forward and Castiel caught him. "Y're my best friend, Cas."

Cas didn't say anything, but Dean felt his body stiffen.

"I see," Cas said. "Dean, Sam is worried about you. You shouldn't be out here drinking, it's midwinter."

"'M not cold," Dean mumbled into Castiel's shoulder.

"I don't know if you're aware of this," said Castiel, "but whisky lies."

Dean clutched at the angel.

"Y're warm," he said.

"All right," said Cas. "Let's get you back to the motel."

"Don't wanna," said Dean, aware on some level that he was whining like a child. "Wanna snuggle."

"Uh - I - I," Cas said, and for a moment, his arms tightened around Dean in a quick little hug.

"That's the stuff," said Dean, sighing and leaning into Cas's shoulder.

"Can you walk?"

"Think so."

"Then we'll walk."

***

The following morning dawned bright and early and seared right the fuck into Dean's brain when he cracked his eyelids.

"Uuuughhhhh," he groaned, and woke more fully to look at Sam giving him the most epic bitchface of his entire lifetime. "Gonna freeze like that, Sammy."

"Dean, I thought you were _dead,_ " Sam shouted, and Dean clapped a hand over his ear, instantly regretting that solution to the problem.

"Wha? Why would you think that?" asked Dean, rolling up to a sitting position.

"Because, you asshole, those black-eyed children?" said Sam, thrusting the paper in his face. "They're killing drifters!"

Now Dean was all the way awake, despite the absolutely pounding headache.

"No shit?" he asked. "What for?"

Sam's impressive upside-down face morphed a little because the kid could not resist giving any kind of lecture, they were like candy to him.

"Maybe turning the whole _all drifters are serial killers_ backwards?" said Sam, shrugging. "Not like anybody would miss us."

_Stop dying on me!_

Dean squinted at Sam. That voice in his head sure sounded like -

_I wanna snuggle._

Mortification hit him like a fist to the jaw.

"Where's Cas?" Dean demanded.

"In the bathroom."

"What the hell's he doing in the bathroom?"

"I think he's hiding."

Dean's belly did a weird swooping thing.

"Hiding from what?"

"I think he doesn't want to cure your hangover."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"Aw, Cas, c'mon!" Dean pleaded. "Heal me, please?"

There was silence.

Then, a tetchy growl from behind the bathroom door:

"I will not."

"Look, I wouldn't ask -"

"You _always_ ask."

"But me an' Sam gotta go look into this, man."

Dean _desperately_ wanted to believe that Castiel had suffered short-term memory loss and didn't remember what a cuddly drunk he'd been.

It skated far too close to -

well, some very confusing thoughts that Dean had luxuriated in, at times, about the angel.

"Please, Cas," said Dean.

After a moment, there was a long-suffering sigh from behind the door.

Dean grinned bright at his brother, who was trying for Most Epic Bitchface Part II, but it had honestly been too recent for a sequel.

"There we go," said Dean.


	15. January 7th - Sola's House - Then

Sola grinned brightly, her long gray braids against her yellow-orange embroidered shirt. Her arms were full of chocolate bars and a tub of ice cream.

"Haha, didja win the lottery, Sola?" asked Dean, "I can take those off your hands for ya."

"Please do, my darling," she said, dropping several of the candy bars into Dean's hands. "Put them in the freezer. We're going to make milkshakes tonight!"

Sam bounded down the stairs, all bright smiles.

"You hear that, Sammy?" asked Dean, delighted. "We're gonna make milkshakes!"

"Yeah, sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen," said Sam.

"Now, don't be that way, my darling," said Sola, patting Sam on the cheek. "Yes, we must be healthy, but make some time for fun, too."

"Ha!" said Dean, pointing at him.

"Dean, will you make the salad for dinner?" asked Sola sweetly, as she walked past him and out the sliding door into the backyard.

Sam gave Dean a triumphant grin. Dean scowled.

He went to the refrigerator for the romaine lettuce Sola had bought at the store.

"Fun, health, happiness, sadness. Balance, a time for all things," said Sola softly from the backyard.

***

"Oh my _God_ ," Dean said, leaning back in his chair and popping the button on his jeans. "That was _awesome,_ Sola."

"Gross, Dean," said Sam. "How the hell did you have _three_ milkshakes? Ugh."

"Be kind to your brother, Samuel," said Sola. "He deserves happiness, as do you."

Sam looked at Dean for a while. Then he smiled.

"You know what?" he said, taking a bite out of a stick of celery as if it was something people actually enjoyed eating. "You're right, Sola. We both do."

Sola beamed at them.

"Progress, my darlings," she said. "It's good. Never forget."

***

That night, Sola tucked them in, just like every night.

For some reason, this was the first time Dean noticed that there had been glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling. Maybe because this was the first time the light had been on for an extended period of time, maybe because he was usually dog-tired and just passed out. 

Maybe for all his years hunting, Dean was not as observant as he'd like to believe.

Dean stared up at the fake stars. Although they were unlike the real stars out there in the desert, he enjoyed inventing constellations as he looked up at them anyway.

Then, after a while, a foolish thought came to him:

_what if this wasn't all there was? what if he could have more?_

_what if..._

"I wish," said Dean softly, at the unreal stars, "that - "

He cleared his throat and blinked against the sudden tears that surprised him.

"Someone would want to be with me, and never leave. Someone would want _me_. Be by my side, no matter what."

And in a much smaller voice, that came as much from the four-year-old child staring up at a burning house with a baby in his arms as it did from the grown man in the too-small bed:

"I wish somebody would love me best."

Rolling over and closing his eyes, Dean hugged his pillow and fell asleep.

***

The following morning, Dean had a question.

It had been percolating in his mind for a while.

"Sola," he ventured, as he walked into the kitchen where she was baking bread, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course, my darling," she said. "What is it?"

"Did you and your husband ever have a kid?"

Sola's expression faded a little, her smile grew wan and strange.

"Yes, I did," she told him. "He passed away a long time ago. You're staying in his room."

Dean felt a strange chasm between himself and Sola then, a story and mystery illustrated by the faded glow-in-the-dark stars he'd presumed to make a wish on had belonged to her child.

He felt strangely like he had intruded on someone else's territory by making his wish on them.

Not that he could tell Sola, of course.

"Oh, my darling," said Sola, coming around the breakfast bar to set her palm against Dean's cheek. "Don't be sad. You weren't to know. It's been a long time. I've lost a lot."

She walked into the living room and sat down on the sofa.

"Come here, sit," she invited, and Dean went to the loveseat next to the couch and sat down.

"I'm sorry - "

"No, no," she said, her smile as warm as it ever was. She took his hand, hers felt cool and papery in his own. "You must ask questions, my darling. You must be willing to share yourself and your story with others. Try not to keep things bottled up, as you may regret it one day."

She sighed, and patted his hand.

"Aaron died in a car crash," she said. "He was in a friend's car, they were bringing him home after his basketball meet. Drunk driver. You understand."

Dean just nodded numbly.

"After that, George and I were inconsolable," said Sola. "And six months later I lost George to cancer. I learned, then, that there is not as much time as we think to say the things that we should."

She gave him a meaningful look.

"There is the you that you are, and the you that they make you," she told him. "Remember that you can choose which of these Deans you ultimately want to be. Do you understand, my darling?"

"I think so," mumbled Dean, who really didn't.

But Sola patted him on the hand anyway.

"Remember, when the time comes, to speak your truth, my darling," she said. "If you remember anything from this time you have spent with me, it is my wish that you will remember this."

Dean nodded.

"I'll remember," he said.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Sola patted his hand again and then stood up.

"Well then!" she said, "How about a movie? Call Sam down to wash up before dinner, we'll make popcorn afterwards and watch a film. Do you like _Thunderheart_?"

" _That's a rock, these are Ray-Bans,_ " Dean quoted flawlessly.

Sola beamed.

"That's my boy," she said. "There _are_ powerful rocks in the world, of course."

"If I ever find any, I'll send them to you."

Sola's face crinkled up in joy.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been in something of a sad haze, decided to start writing again, hope this still works - both the chapter and the story.
> 
> Another chapter dedicated to my own "Sola" and her powerful rocks. <3


	16. January 7th - Chicago, Fourth Day - Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW HERE FOR MENTIONS OF DIFFERENT TYPES OF CHILD ABUSE! in a discussion of past events

After Castiel had grudgingly healed Dean's hangover, they drove to the first house on the outskirts of the city.

Cas was suspiciously silent in the back.

"Somethin' the matter, Cas?" asked Dean. 

Cas wouldn't even meet his eyes in the mirror.

"I think he's mad at you," Sam whispered helpfully.

"You givin' me the silent treatment?" asked Dean. "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that. Ain't like I don't get drunk all the -"

"You had _alcohol poisoning, Dean,_ " Castiel snapped. "You might have _died._ I won't be around to heal you every time! A hangover was the best I could do and the least of your worries. And yet you wanted me to heal you of even that. My grace is not unlimited and I am _not_ some kind of rechargable battery for you to use and then throw away once I've stopped being useful to you!"

The air in the car got considerably cooler despite the warmth of the heater making the car's interior pleasant despite the time of year.

Dean swallowed. The last thing he wanted was for Castiel to be angry with him, but it seemed like all he ever did was put his foot in his mouth any time he opened it.

It was just that Cas made him feel completely out of control and crazy. It was hard to keep a lid on all that, it kept coming out at the seams and in unexpected places.

It made him angry and frightened and confused, like there was something big enough between them to swallow whole worlds and Dean just had no idea what to do with it at all.

Not that it excused his behavior.

It was a reason, but not an excuse.

"Cas, I'm really sorry, man," said Dean softly.

So softly, in fact, that Sam whipped around to look at him as if to check whether Dean had grown another head or was about to confess a suspicious love for salad.

Castiel, who had been staring intently out the window, glanced at Dean in spite of himself.

And then just kept staring into the rearview mirror as if his eyes got snagged there.

"Whoa, hey, watch the road," said Sam, and Dean's gaze snapped forward again.

_Fuck. How does he keep **doing** that to me?_

"Apology accepted," rumbled Castiel softly, and the weirdly excited flips that Dean's stomach started to do made him both alarmed and elated.

"I'll be more careful in the future," said Dean in a tender voice he hardly recognized.

"Good," purred Castiel, and great, now Dean was getting confused again because for some reason it was making him half-hard in his jeans.

But Sam was right there and they were on a job and Dean cleared his throat.

"So, Sammy, you wanna go over what we know so far?" asked Dean, knowing that a delighted Sam would then launch into an exposition.

But Dean was only half-listening, and switching his attention from the road in front of him to the distracting baby blues in the backseat of the car.

***

"Agents Seger and Lennon," Sam said, flashing his FBI badge at the woman drinking coffee on her front porch. "We'd like to know if we can ask a few questions."

"Yes, of course," said the woman. "I'm Marie Cavendish. Come on in, agents."

She poured them some coffee in her ultrawhite modern house, the mugs sitting on the bright white kitchen island.

Dean tried not to touch anything.

"A week ago, the doorbell rang," she said. "There was a little boy standing on my porch. He couldn't have been older than eight or nine. His eyes were all black."

She took a sip of her coffee. Dean did the same, wincing at the bitter taste.

"He asked if he could call his parents and wait inside for them," she said. "And, what with all the awful things you hear in the news - well. You know."

Sam nodded sympathetically, a skill at which he was a professional.

"The next thing I knew, this child - I never got his name - had stabbed a man out in the street. I don't know how he got out of the house without my seeing him."

She shrugged.

"Just a drifter, not that anyone would miss him," said Mrs. Cavendish.

Dean bristled. Sam put a hand on his arm.

"But I can't imagine why a child would do such a thing," she said. "Or how! I wouldn't have thought a child would have that kind of strength. Maybe he'd done something horrible to this child."

"Lady, you saw a kid with black eyes who vanished from your house and murdered some guy and your first go-to is _oh he probably had it coming?_ "

Mrs. Cavendish stared at him like he had gone insane.

Maybe he had.

"Thank you for your time," said Sam, and shepherded Dean out the door.

***

In the street, Sam spread his arms.

"What the hell was that, Dean?" he demanded.

"You know what that was!" Dean said, pointing a finger in his brother's face. "Guy gets murdered and all he's done is, what? Live on the road? _We_ live on the road, remember? So we're prime targets here."

"I get it, believe me, I do," said Sam. "But it's a job like any other job, we gotta be professional about it."

"Sam," said Dean, and instead of finishing his thought, he walked away.

"Where are you going?" Sam called after him.

"Takin' a walk!" Dean said. "Just let me go. I'll be back in a while."

Dean walked away from his little brother as quickly as he could, casting one glance over his shoulder to see Sam open his arms again in disbelief, dropping them as he held the pen and pad in one hand.

When Dean turned the corner, he found an alleyway and pressed his head and hand against the bricks, eyes squeezed tight.

"Is something wrong, Dean?"

Dean let out a sigh. 

The last thing he wanted was to get his issues all over Castiel.

He turned around and dropped back against the bricks, looking cooly at Cas, who stared back at him with those serene blue eyes.

"Years ago," Dean started, and then stopped. "Okay. You know how I - I said Dad never hit us?"

Dean swallowed, blinking tears out of his eyelashes.

"Uh, so - um. He never hit _Sam._ "

Dean gave Cas a hopeful look, thinking this would be clear enough, but Cas tilted his head in that puzzled way.

"He sure as hell beat the shit out of me," said Dean. "And here's the kicker. There was this case, not too far from here actually, in Joliet. Near - near the prison. I don't know if you know it."

Dean swallowed against a lump in his throat at the memory.

"There was - this guy, and the - okay, Cas. And really really young kids. Okay? Like _really_ young."

Dean stared off toward the alleyway.

"I killed him. He was human and I fucking murdered him without a second thought. First human I ever killed. He was human, but he was a monster. You get me? You understand?"

Castiel gave a slight nod.

"And you never told your brother."

"I never told nobody but you," said Dean in anguish. 

"That is a heavy burden to carry all these years."

"Yeah, well, I get - I see red, Cas, when it's kids," said Dean, helpless. "Dunno, maybe it was raisin' Sammy, maybe - but I didn't just kill him. I made it slow. He suffered, a long time - so. It wasn't just in hell I was - like that."

Dean sighed.

"And to hear the way people talk about drifters like - like _we're_ \- as a _group of people -_ okay, I mean, _drifter serial killer_ \- heard that a million times, but - "

"There's a very big difference."

"There's a reason some kinds of criminals get murdered in prison," said Dean. "There are some kinds of criminals that - that even other criminals can't stand."

They stood there in silence for a while, Dean trying to hold back all the emotion and the madness and the strange desire for Cas to wrap him up safe.

He even, for a second, considered asking Castiel to erase his memories of that time, of what he'd seen and what he'd done in response to it.

One less nightmare.

"You don't have to bear this burden alone, Dean," Castiel said. "Do you understand? You are not alone."

Finally, Dean reached out. He clutched the sleeve of the trenchcoat as if he could keep Castiel by his side that way.

He dragged the angel in for what he thought would be a hug, but then buried his face in Castiel's shoulder with a strange sob.

"You are not alone," Castiel repeated, smoothing his hands down Dean's back. "You will never be alone again, if you don't want to be, Dean Winchester."

Dean couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning.

Then Castiel ran a tentative hand up against the short hairs at the base of Dean's skull, and pressed him against his shoulder in a soft hug.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean felt that he broke the surface.

He breathed.

He stared up at the pale blue of the sky, nowhere near the color of Castiel's exquisite eyes.

Safe and secure, warm and - 

_loved -_

the word made itself known in half a heartbeat, and then fled.

But Castiel's arms were still wrapped around him, and Dean let go of his death grip on Castiel's sleeve, his arms coming up around the angel until he was holding him, too.


	17. January 8th - Sola's House - Then

Dean leaned against the shovel he was holding and wiped his forehead. The gardening gloves felt scratchy against his skin. He was sweating and his face was covered in dirt and he was happier than he'd ever been.

It was hot out, even this early in the day in January. The desert got cold at night, and on some days even in winter it turned unseasonably hot.

"Sam," said Dean.

Sam stopped working and turned to his brother.

They were helping Sola with her rock garden.

"Yeah, what's up?" he said.

"I think we gotta move on."

Sam stared at him in smooth silence for a moment.

"And why is that, exactly?"

Dean shrugged.

"We're drifters," he said. "It's what we do."

" _You_ might be a drifter," said Sam. "I'm not. Dad's only like that because he has major issues. It's just you, Dean."

_It's just you, Dean._

_Which means, one day, you're gonna be alone._

Dean sighed.

"Fine," he said. "I'm the only one. But I was thinkin' about what you said, about Dad finding us?"

"How's Dad gonna find us?"

"Get law enforcement to keep an eye out for a 67 Chevy Impala?"

"We _really_ need to get a more understated car."

"Hey," said Dean. "Anyway, I thought we could go to Stanford, take a look around."

Sam's eyes lit up like it was Christmas.

"Holy shit, do you mean it?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, little brother, I do," said Dean.

Sam dropped his shovel and threw himself at his brother, nearly knocking Dean onto his ass, and wrapped his arms around him.

"Thank you, thank you," said Sam. "You're the best big brother ever!"

"Now that's what I like to see," said Sola, coming out on the deck with a tray of iced lemonade. "Being nice to each other. That's good."

"Sola, Dean's gonna take me up to Stanford to look at the college!" Sam said, all smiles.

"Wonderful, Sam," said Sola, as he took the glass of lemonade and downed it in one go, his throat moving as he swallowed quickly.

Sola gave Dean a knowing look as he took the other glass of lemonade.

"It's good of you to do something nice for your brother," she said. "But I sense there's another reason. You fear your father will find you, don't you?"

"Can't keep anything hidden from you, Sola," said Dean, drinking his own lemonade with much more decorum because Dean had _manners_ , Sam.

"Don't you worry, my darlings," she said. "If he comes here looking, I won't tell him a thing."

"We'll probably be leaving soon," said Dean. "Maybe tonight. Better to go when it's dark."

Sola shook her head.

"I understand," she said, "I just wish you boys didn't have to live under cover of darkness in that way. Your souls are so, so bright."

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, and she smiled.

***

That night, they watched the stars together, as a fire crackled in the firepit and they were at peace with the world.

***

When ten o'clock rolled around, Dean sighed and stood up.

Sola glanced up at him.

"You're welcome to stay another night and leave in the morning," she said. 

"We appreciate it, Sola, but Dean's right," said Sam. "We really need to go while it's still dark."

"Then at least stop over in Flagstaff or somewhere close by," said Sola. "I'd hate to think of something happening to you out there."

Dean groaned.

"I hate Flagstaff," he said. "Well, at least it's not Scottsdale."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"We promise," he said. He went inside to pack his things, leaving Dean with Sola.

"I wish we didn't have to leave," Dean confessed to her.

"You'll always be welcome here, my darling," said Sola. "And Dean. Will you promise me something else?"

"Anything."

"When next you meet a young woman, will you befriend her instead of trying to bed her?"

Dean gave Sola a startled look.

"Wow, that was _not_ where I thought this was heading," he said, with a nervous laugh.

Sola gave him a stern look.

"I know that you sleep with women because you cannot bear to fall in love with them, because you fall in love so easily, so hard," said Sola. "You feel too much, and you don't think that's manly. But you have a very strange and sad impression of what it is to be a man."

"Wow, Sola, you sure know how to make a guy feel good."

"Listen to me, my darling. I don't say these things to hurt you, but to help you. Women are not there only to be foils to your pain. Remember what I told you about hunters? There are more women out there than men?"

Dean nodded.

"Think on that, and the reason you didn't know it," said Sola. "Think on the worlds that we make for ourselves. And Dean - please. Let somebody in."

"I've got Sam," Dean pointed out, but his voice was rough.

"And Sam is wonderful," said Sola. "But you must think of people as like pie. And I know you love pie."

"Pie?" asked Dean, puzzled.

"Yes. One piece is your family, one piece is your partner, one piece is your friend, one piece is your child. It is unfair to expect all of your needs to be met by a single slice of pie."

"I don't know, a lot of my needs can be met by a single slice of pie."

Sola grinned.

"You joke, my darling, but I am very serious," she said. "And the jokes you think cover you and the bright sensitive soul of you, but they don't."

Now Dean was starting to feel a little exposed. That dark curl of self-hatred started to well up inside him and curl around his heart.

"You are beautiful here, Dean," said Sola, tapping on his chest. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Especially yourself."

Dean nodded, staring at the floor.

"Now, will you make me that promise?"

"Okay. Next girl I meet, make friends with her first."

Sola beamed.

"Excellent, my darling."

***

Dean waited out in the Impala, its engine rumbling softly in the quiet desert street.

He didn't want to leave Sola's. He wondered if he was being a little too hasty in running off.

He looked at her little rose-colored house with the cacti in the yard and the neat little white sidewalk up to the steps and the curved front door, illuminated by the glow from the soft orange lights in the windows.

For a brief moment, he could think of it as home.

Then Sam emerged from the house and clattered down the steps. 

Sola was silhouetted in the door, and she waved to Dean as Sam opened the passenger door and got in, slamming it shut.

They both waved, and sat looking at Sola's house for a moment.

"I really liked it there," said Sam.

"Me too, Sammy," said Dean. He put the car into drive. "Ready to go to Stanford?"

Even in the bare light of the car's interior, Dean could see his brother flash a smile.

"Hell yeah."

And the Impala drove off into the night.


	18. January 8th - Chicago, Fifth Day - Now

"Seems like they've moved on."

Dean rolled over in bed and raised an eyebrow at his brother.

"Who's the what now?" he asked, blinking at him.

"Sorry to wake you," said Sam, not sounding sorry at all. "But there are reports - another drifter killed."

"Not around here though."

"No. Las Vegas."

"Hell of a drive."

"Yeah."

Dean sat up and rubbed his face. Sam pushed a cup of coffee under his nose, because Sam was an awesome brother.

"And I kind of thought you might want to check the PO box."

Dean took a long drink.

"Man," he said. "I haven't thought of that thing in years."

"Seems like it might be time."

"Sam, I stopped paying for it," said Dean. "There's no way."

Sam shrugged.

"You never know. We're going to be there anyway."

Dean took another drink of coffee and shook his head.

"Vegas," he said, in a faraway voice. "One of Dad's favorite towns."

***

Castiel was with them only briefly as they explained their plans. 

He nodded, and told them he would catch up with them when they were there.

"I have important business to attend to in Heaven," said Castiel, and he disappeared.

"Wow, he sure knows how to make an exit," muttered Dean.

They were packing their bags. Sam grinned.

"I think he just doesn't behave like people," he said. "I like him anyway."

Dean looked up to see Sam giving him an expectant face.

"Wha - "

Sam turned the puppy eyes up to eleven.

"Okay, yeah, fine," grumbled Dean. "I like him too."

***

They checked out of the motel and got into the Impala.

The Cranberries were on the radio for some ungodly reason.

"Dean, listen," said Sam.

"Is this your douchey radio station?" Dean demanded.

Sam looked at the radio.

"Uh," he said, "I haven't touched it."

"Then who the hell is listening to - to - _soft rock_ on my radio?"

"Maybe Cas likes it," Sam suggested. "Maybe Cas likes power ballads."

Dean stared at Sam in shocked horror.

"How dare you," he said. "We were supposed to be giving him a _good_ education."

" _Maybe Cas likes Michael Bublé_ ," said Sam.

" _You shut the hell up._ "

Sam threw his head back and laughed.

He also gave Dean a Special Look that said _hmmm I noticed you haven't turned the station yet, Dean._

Before Dean could start laying into him again, though, his expression came over a little sad.

"I was trying to say," said Sam gently, "that I'm sorry."

"Huh? Sorry for what?" asked Dean, as he drove the car out of the motel parking lot.

"I know that being a drifter has always been a big thing for you," said Sam. "The thing is, Dean - _I'm_ not a drifter, not really, I'm just along for the ride."

"Right," said Dean. "We didn't spend the last decade on the road together. Sure."

"Yeah, of course we did, but what I'm saying is that _you're the drifter_ , Dean," said Sam. "I'm not really wired that way. So I don't identify. But I get that it matters a lot _to you_ , and I should've been more sensitive to that. So for that, I'm sorry."

"Great. Good talk."

"Dean."

"Look, Sammy, I get that you want to be Mr. Normal or whatever," said Dean. "But we can't. We won't. It's impossible."

"What, do you think you're like, a bullet or something?" asked Sam, a little incredulous. "Pull the trigger and you still go where you're told? Dad's _dead,_ man, you don't need to obey him anymore!"

"If it ain't Dad, it's always _somebody,_ " said Dean. "This car and the road are the only damned freedom I've ever had! The only choices I could really make for myself, because I ain't allowed to want something for myself."

"You sure that's not just _you_ not letting yourself have - something?" asked Sam.

"If you are going to do this therapy session all the way to Vegas, you can sleep in the trunk."

"Okay, okay. But just think about it, all right? What I said."

"Okay."

***

Sam fell asleep somewhere around the state line.

The car was blessedly silent all the way to Omaha.


	19. January 9th - Las Vegas - Then

Coming into Las Vegas always gave Dean the sense that he was on another planet.

They'd spent the briefest night at a motel outside of Flagstaff before deciding to drive through Vegas instead of directly to Stanford.

"What the hell for, Sammy?" Dean demanded.

"That's where my PO box is," said Sam, a little defensive.

"In _Vegas_?" Dean said. "Why?"

"Because," said Sam, giving Dean a hard look. "I always know Dad'll end up back there."

They didn't talk much about John's gambling problem.

Or his drinking problem.

Or his overbearing control of his sons. Or some of the weirdness surrounding it, like those "inspections". 

All weird. Nothing quite weird _enough_ for Dean to do anything about it, and besides. 

If he tried to bring it up to the authorities, then what? 

Him and Sam, separated forever in the foster system. He'd seen it happen to a lot of kids.

He decided that if Sam ever found out how many times Dad had sent him to juvie, he'd never tell him the real reason.

He'd make up something. Stealing groceries. Whatever.

It was important for him to be a role model for Sam and it didn't include _that._

Dean was already damaged enough, and the fact that he had an interest in women _and_ men -

well, John Winchester would _never_ have a son like that.

And every time Dean came back, John would _look_ at him, like maybe he got fixed this time.

Dean ground his teeth together and looked at the oasis of light in the darkness up ahead.

"Dad always said," Dean told Sam, "that Vegas is where you go to forget."

"Too bad it didn't work for him."

Startled, Dean looked across the bench seat at his baby brother.

That kid was going places.

***

Las Vegas is a strange kind of place. All lights and little substance.

Neither Dean or Sam had inherited their father's gambling problem, so they saw Vegas as a garish sort of empty place filled with cheap buffets.

And those appealed to Dean most of all.

"You see this, Sammy?" Dean asked, slapping a flyer in his hand. "Surf N Turf all you can eat for 99 cents! They're givin' this stuff away!"

"That's because they want people to keep throwing their money away on the slots," said Sam, as they walked into the post office.

"Business is business," said Dean.

He watched his brother open the box.

Sam sighed.

"Nothing," he said.

Dean stood there for a moment, watching his brother.

He had an idea.

"Sam," he asked, "how'd you sign up for that thing?"

***

That night, the Winchester brothers were both proud owners of their own PO boxes.

Dean fell asleep wondering what it was like to stay in the fancy hotels along the Strip, and why they never got anything nice even though everything they did used money they had stolen.

Vaguely, he longed for a kinder life.

***

The next day, on their way out of town, Dean bought a postcard.

He scribbled a hasty message to Sola, and included his new PO box address on the back.

That was how he started a correspondence.

***

The drive from Las Vegas to Stanford was uneventful.

Dean put peanut butter on Sam's nose while he was asleep.

This led to a lot of swearing, peanut butter everywhere, and Dean giggling like an idiot for most of the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not eat the 99 cent Surf N Turf at a Vegas buffet.
> 
> You will regret it.


	20. January 9th - Las Vegas - Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for discussion of child abuse

_"ON A LONG AND LONESOME HIGHWAY, EAST OF OMAHA!"_ Dean bellowed along with _Turn the Page_ on the radio as Sam startled awake on a gasp.

He stared his brother down as the song continued. Dean grinned at him, nodding encouragement.

 _"BEEN RIDIN' SIXTEEN HOURS AND THERE'S NOTHIN' MUCH TO DO!"_ Dean continued as Sam tried to murder him with the power of bitchface alone. "Mornin', Sammy!"

Sam glared at him with the burning hatred of a thousand suns.

"Aw, c'mon," said Dean, singing, " _Here I am, on the road again! Here I am, up on the stage -_ "

Sam grudgingly smiled a little, and then joined him.

" _Here I go, playin' the star again,_ " they sang together. " _Here I go, turn the page._ "

Sam sat up straight and looked around himself.

"Where are we?" he asked.

Dean beamed at him.

"Welcome to Las Vegas," he said.

Sam gave a little huff and a half-smile.

"Dad used to say _Vegas is where you go to forget,_ " he said.

"I remember."

***

Sam was off making copies for their FBI stuff while Dean went to get a smoothie.

Yeah, so sue him.

He remembered his dad talking about things like this back in the day, out in California or New York, _the hell are they doing with all these girly coffee drinks, ground coffee ain't good enough for 'em?_ and _smoothies, how fucking gay_ and other various John Winchester hits.

Dean wondered what his dad would make of the fact that all of those things had made their way relentlessly across America and now were available in every podunk town across the country.

He'd probably have some choice things to say about it.

Dean stood in the parking lot leaning against the Impala rebelliously sucking down his mango-papaya-passionfruit smoothie with an angry frown.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean jumped a mile.

"Jeez, Cas," said Dean. "Warn a guy."

"My apologies," said Cas. "You looked very angry, is everything all right?"

"What? Oh. This," he said, showing Cas his smoothie. "My dad thought these were gay."

Castiel studied the smoothie and carefully looked up at Dean.

"I don't think it has a sexuality, Dean," he said gravely.

Dean lost his shit.

"What is it? Did I say something wrong?" asked Castiel.

Dean was wiping tears from his eyes, still doubled over from wheezing with laughter.

"No, man," he said. "You just - I don't know. Have a way with words. Is all."

"I am sorry I didn't bring any news," Castiel began.

Then he hesitated.

"If you don't have news, what are you doing here?" asked Dean, and then hated himself for how that sounded. "Not that we don't want you here! Even if you don't. Have news, I mean."

Castiel watched Dean for a while.

Dean wondered if this was what trees would be like, if they could talk; unaware of time passing because so much time passed for them relative to other creatures.

"Cas," Dean prompted.

"I was thinking," Cas said, as if jump-started, "about the things you said - about your father. And what he did to you."

Dean's stomach dropped like he was on a roller coaster.

"I'm so sorry, Dean."

Dean went back to sucking down that smoothie, fixing his eyes on the cracked pavement of the parking lot.

And he suddenly wanted to confess everything, for Cas to know him thoroughly, for Cas to understand the reason he really shouldn't be wasting his time on Dean.

"Y'know, it was strange, with him," said Dean slowly, in a strange voice. "He always hit me. Not Sam. Never Sam. And a part of me will always hate Sam for that, as irrational as that sounds. It ain't the kid's fault, after all."

Dean looked off into the distance past Castiel's shoulder. He wasn't sure if he could look the angel in the eye.

"I started wearing flannel in the summer to hide the bruises and cigarette burns on my arms. Dad never 'inspected' either of us til my wounds were well-healed," said Dean, and then laughed a little. "Sam saw his big brother wearing flannel and followed suit, never knowing the reason why, because Dad did it in secret. I've always wanted to tell Sam about that, it's always right on the tip of my tongue, but it won't come out. Wonder why it's so easy to tell you." 

Dean finally looked the angel in the eye. He didn't find pity there, only a soft kind of understanding.

"If anyone should hate Dad it's me but I don't, Cas, I don't, I loved him - loved him too much. I just wanted him to be proud of me." 

"Oh, Dean," said Cas, in that kind, soothing way that always reminded Dean of a warm blanket and hot mug of cocoa on a fall day. 

But Dean shook his head. He couldn't really accept sympathy or comfort from Castiel.

Cas was just too good for him.

"Don't know why you wanna be wasting your time around a busted up piece of ass like me."

"Dean, you know that's not true. And I - I didn't come here to be helpful. I came to apologize," Castiel continued. "For that time I - I hit you. In the crypt, and - and in the alley."

Dean slowly looked up at Cas. There was a penitent look in his eyes that Dean found crossed the boundaries of sweet, sad, and hot all at once.

"You don't," coughed Dean, "have to apologize for that, Cas. Not like I didn't beat on you a time or two myself."

"That's different," persisted Cas. "You were a demon, or under some kind of influence. I'm an angel, I know my strength, the damage I - I can cause, but I never thought beyond the physical."

Dean thought about that time in the alleyway. 

He did not know how to tell Castiel how badly it had turned him on. That he'd come so hard after desperately fucking his fist thinking about it that he'd slammed his fist into the wall of the motel bathroom and they'd lost their deposit.

He'd bitten his tongue so hard it bled. And he'd _loved_ it. 

Fuck.

Just another way in which Dean was all kinds of fucked up.

Well, even _more_ fucked up, because at least it was _just_ guys before.

 _Now_ it was a guy-shaped angel and apparently being beaten within an inch of his life by a powerful creature like Castiel was what did it for him.

Great. A monster hunter turned on by monsters.

Now _there_ was a hunting angle he was sure nobody had ever tried.

"Dean?" asked Castiel, because he'd been quiet for a long time.

_God I wish you'd fucked me then, all that raw fucking power._

"It's okay, Cas," Dean reassured him. "Really. I forgive you."

"Thank you," said Castiel. "I'm relieved to hear it."

Now Castiel looked a little wrong-footed, like he wasn't certain what he should do next.

"I suppose I'll go," he said, a little uncertain.

"No, Cas, stay," said Dean. "We're gonna finally get a nice hotel room here, we never do that. We'd love to have you around. It'll be like a little vacation."

"Drifters are being murdered, Dean," Castiel reminded him.

"Okay, well, as close to a vacation as we get," Dean clarified.

Castiel smiled.

"I'd love to," he said.


	21. January 10th - Stanford - Then

Sam woke up around ten o' clock.

He sat up and looked at Dean.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Just outside Stanford, little brother," he said. "You're gonna take the college tour. Some hot girl's gonna show you around, what do you think?"

"Great," said Sam. "That's awesome."

***

Dean left Sam in the capable hands of Julie, who he gave the once-over because he was terrible, habits die hard, and he couldn't help himself.

"Thanks, _Dean,_ " Sam had hissed before walking off with her.

Dean found himself at something of a loss.

He wandered the campus aimlessly, a little intimidated by the academia surrounding him, knowing in his heart that he just wasn't going to be good enough to compare with all these fancy people and their fancy educations.

Pretty soon, that was going to be Sam, too.

He'd be better than Dean, and smarter than Dean, more successful than Dean in every way.

Just as Sam had shot up past him, he would shoot past him again, in every way that mattered.

Dean wanted Sam to be happy, but he was already grieving.

Music started up in his pocket.

It took him a moment to realize it was his phone, it had been so long since he'd heard it ring.

He reached into his jacket.

_Dad._

He didn't want to answer the phone.

He wouldn't.

"Hello?" said Dean.

"Son," John Winchester's voice came down the line and Dean automatically stood at attention, even though he was probably nowhere nearby.

"Sir," Dean replied.

"You and Sam busy with a hunt?" he asked.

"Not at, uh," said Dean. "Not at the moment, sir."

"Good," said John, and apparently it was easy as that? Dean stored this away as information for the future. "There's something I want you to check out. Where are you?"

"California."

"Oh, still out on the coast," said John. "You boys need to move around a little more if you're going to be successful hunters. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," said Dean, just glad that apparently their return to California had accidentally become the perfect alibi for not having been hunting _at all_ since they had separated.

"Okay," said John. "There's a case up in South Dakota, guy by the name of Yellowfeather. You need anything? Money, gas?"

Dean heard the test in the question, the assumption that Dean and Sam would come running back to him, begging for his help because they couldn't actually make it on their own.

"No, sir," said Dean, voice steady. "We're good."

"You owe me a lot of money, kid," said John evenly. "For all the times I've taken care of you and your brother. Keep that in mind."

Dean's jaw tightened so hard he heard something crack.

But he absolutely could not get that automatic _yes, sir_ out of his mouth.

"Thought we were your kids," said Dean.

"And?" John asked. "Look, are you going to take your brother up there or not? I can go instead."

_I expected you to fail,_ he didn't need to say.

"We'll go," Dean said, keeping his voice steady. "Couple days' drive should be -"

"You get there as fast as you can," said John. "These people _matter,_ Dean, don't you get that? Every minute you screw around, you're risking their lives."

_And I'm risking my life and Sammy's if I wrap the Impala around a telephone pole!_ Dean did not say.

"Yes, sir, I understand," said Dean.

"Good. And next time we communicate, I don't want to hear any more backtalk. Understood?" 

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"Understood."

Then - 

"Dad - "

But the line went dead.

Dean snapped the clamshell shut and had to tense all his muscles in order not to throw the thing across the quad.

***

Sam returned, all smiles.

"I hope that you'll be joining us at Stanford," said Julie, and said goodbye, eyes lingering on Sam a little too long.

Dean grinned at her, and she made her escape.

"How was it?" asked Dean. "She sure seems sweet on you."

"Oh, Dean, it was _great_ ," Sam enthused, "you wouldn't believe the library, the resources they have, the - what is it?"

Sam stalled out, looking at Dean.

"It's nothing, Sam, we can - "

"No, what happened?"

Dean sighed and stared down at the ground.

Then he looked up at his brother.

"Dad called."

God, Dean hated watching the light go out in Sam's eyes, like someone had snuffed out a candle.

"Oh," he said. "Was he mad?"

"No," said Dean. "I don't think he knew we haven't been hunting. But he's sending us on a hunt."

"Oh," said Sam flatly.

"We can stay here a couple more days," said Dean quickly, as Sam started walking back toward the parking lot. Dean had to jog to keep up because of his brother's freakishly long legs.

"No, he'll find out," said Sam. "Guess it was stupid of us to think we could have a whole year free of him."

"C'mon, Sam, you know he means well."

"Does he, Dean?" asked Sam, rounding on him. "You _know_ some of the shit he's pulled isn't - isn't okay! And the things he's done to _you -_ "

Sam made a noise of disgust.

"What things he's done to me?" asked Dean, suspicious.

"Never mind," said Sam. "Let's just go do the hunt, okay?"

He got into the car and pulled on his seatbelt, his mouth in a deep frown.

Dean got into the driver's side and closed the door.

"But just so you know," said Sam quietly. "When I get that acceptance letter - and I _will,_ whether it's to Stanford or somewhere else - I'm gone. Strings cut. Got it?"

Dean stared out the windshield for a moment.

He turned the key and put the car in reverse.

"Got it," he said, and they drove out of the parking lot back onto the road.


	22. January 10th - Las Vegas, Second Day - Now

Dean was alone, and aching.

"Cas, Cas," he whispered, arching up into his own hand as he tightened his fist around his cock. 

It wept precome. He was so wet he didn't even need lube.

Thinking about Cas always got him that way.

In his mind, Castiel was taking him apart.

Dean's soft mewls captured by Castiel's lips, as Dean surrendered to the angel's sure and practiced hands.

"Just - just - go slow with me," Dean sighed out. "Please, Cas."

Castiel. Confident. Strong. 

Castiel would not let him fall.

Dean was safe, here, under Castiel's gaze, in Castiel's arms.

Safe and warm and loved.

Dean moaned as he spilled all over himself, splashing his stomach, come soaking the bed.

He took slow, deep breaths.

Yes, much of the time, the idea of Castiel, rough handling, and a quick, sharp fuck as he was dominated by the angel tended to feature in his fantasies.

Sometimes, though - 

Dean thought about what it might be like to have Castiel's love and devotion and worship as he pressed one hand against the handprint and fucked himself senseless thinking of the overwhelming beauty of an angel's love.

Sighing, Dean got up to clean himself off and to do his best with the bedcover he'd been laying on. When he had those kinds of fantasies, for some reason it was much more difficult to control himself and things got messy. 

There were times that Castiel's proximity lit him up like a live wire. The brush of Cas's jacket, an accidental touch of the hands made him aware of every single hair standing up on his own body.

And God, Dean _wanted,_ sometimes, with everything he had.

He shook his head at himself. It had been too long. Sex was pretty easy to come by but he'd kind of given up cruising bars for the most part.

Idly, he wondered why that might be.

He threw the tissues into the toilet and flushed them, taking a quick whore's bath before pulling his henley back over his head. Sam and Cas had headed out before he'd woken, leaving him to get his rest because he'd driven the entire way.

They'd be expecting him to catch up.

***

Dean finally found them at the third address for interviews.

Castiel was giving the plants an extremely suspicious look.

"Gardenia kill your cousin or something?" asked Dean.

Castiel looked at him.

"What? No," he said. "I'm certain these flowers have seen something."

"Why don't you interrogate them?" said Dean. "Seemed to work with the cat."

Castiel appeared to seriously consider this option.

"You may be right," he said. "Excuse me."

The woman watering her plants gave Castiel a weird look.

"Don't mind him, he's kind of a hippie," said Dean. "One with the plants. That kind of thing."

The woman switched her weird look to Dean.

"Okay," she said, drawing the word out.

Sam stepped between them, because he had his shit together and honestly Dean's brain wasn't quite online yet, especially seeing Cas after that mind-melting orgasm that happened to star the angel.

"Mrs. Larson, we just had a few questions about the drifter who got killed here a few days ago," said Sam, flipping open his FBI badge.

"Sure," she said, shrugging. "Some evil little kid was here. Drifter got killed. The end."

"You seem pretty okay with it."

"Dude, this is Vegas," said Mrs. Larson. "You would not believe some of the wild shit I have seen."

"And you think this kid was evil because - ?"

"You kiddin' me? Black-eyed kids. I ain't stupid. Demons or some kinda monster."

Dean was curious now.

"Like real monsters?"

"You're hunters or not?" asked Mrs. Larson. "Because if you ain't, then you're wastin' my goddamn time."

Dean was taken aback, but in a good way. He grinned.

"Her," he told Sam. "I like her. How do you know about hunters?"

"Well, handsome," she said, "I am one."

***

Stacy Larson sat with her feet up on the kitchen table and regarded them over a beer.

"The Winchester brothers," she said. "Well, I'll be damned."

"I don't recommend it," Castiel intoned, and she laughed.

"You must be the angel," she said. "Castiel."

Cas nodded, looking pleased to be recognized.

"So you saw what went down?" asked Dean. "And the kid didn't come after you?"

"Don't think they're hunting hunters," she said. "I'm one of you, but I ain't one of _you_ , if you get my drift."

"You hunt but you stay in place?" asked Sam, a note of awe in his voice.

"Always have," she said. "Thing about America - it ain't just humans who are drifters. Lotta the time, the monsters come to you."

"So you've never lived outside of Vegas in your life?" asked Dean.

"Oh, hell no," she said. "I'm from the Midwest. Ohio actually. Little farming town you probably never heard of. Came out here when I was eighteen and worked as a showgirl ever since."

"But not anymore."

"They got an age cutoff for that, sweetheart. But I was a hunter the entire time."

"Okay," said Sam. "But somehow you got caught up in all this. How?"

"Let's just say that this particular drifter stopped by whenever she came through town," said Stacy, layering the entire sentence with implications.

"Oh. You were - you were lovers," said Sam.

Stacy nodded.

"Nothin' too serious," she said. "But yeah."

"Huh," said Dean.

And then, "Huh."

He leaned over to Sam.

"We know anything about the other murders?" he murmured. "Like - uh."

"I don't know if -"

"Your flowers said they saw something," Castiel announced.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Now, my language skills are not what they used to be," he said, "but from what I gather, the child was something of a death omen in this case. Not the killer."

"The kid was the killer last time," said Dean. "Right?"

"I think so. We might need to go back to the motel and look into it."

"That's a good idea. C'mon, Cas. Let's head out."

"Great meeting you," said Sam. "We'll call if we figure out anything."

Stacy raised her beer in salute.

"Thanks, bucko," she said. "Lookin' forward to gettin' word. Tall drink of water like you."

Sam blushed, and made his escape.


	23. January 11th - En Route - Then

"C'mon, Sammy, it's okay," said Dean. "Just for a little while."

"I'm _tired,_ Dean," said Sam, who had been driving for the last several hours. "You _said_ we were gonna spend a year without a hunt. You _said -_ "

"I know, kiddo," said Dean. "Look, just - here. I'll drive. You sleep."

"Hate sleepin' in the car," Sam whined. "Can't we go to a motel like we always do?"

"Dad said it was urgent."

"How's Dad even gonna _know -_ "

"Dad will know! Okay, Sam? There's a rest stop up ahead. You can sleep in the backseat for a while."

Sam's mouth snapped shut. He drove until they reached the rest stop and truck weigh station and didn't say another word after he parked the car and climbed into the backseat to sleep.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

Then he climbed out of the car, muttering something about using the bathroom, and left Sam to sleep in the back.

***

It only took Dean a few more hours and a couple of blowjobs for truckers that were passing through to make a couple hundred bucks for gas and get some uppers so he could continue on the road that night.

His cell phone felt like a piece of burning coal in his pocket.

John would call when he figured they should have arrived, and God help him if he wasn't where John thought he should be.

Coughing and wiping his mouth after downing the pills, Dean got into the Impala with his brother fast asleep in the back.

He drove all night.

The following morning, the dawning sun reflected in multiple colors on the snow.

Dean's hands were wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip, his eyes unnaturally wide.

He had only one thought in his head:

_I wish somebody loved me._

***

Sam woke up when the Impala bumped on the dip of the driveway into a gas station outside of Hot Springs.

"Hey," he said in a sleepy mumble. "Think we can go to Evans Plunge?"

"Sure, after the hunt," said Dean. 

He got out and put the nozzle into the gas tank, watching the numbers flip.

Sam went to use the bathroom and returned with an apology pack of Twizzlers.

"Sorry I was bein' such a bitch last night," he said. "You want me to drive the last part?"

"Nah," said Dean, even though he could tell he was dog-tired beneath the artificial wakefulness. "We're almost there."

He paid for the gas and got back into the car, taking a Twizzler out of the package as they headed back down the highway.

***

There was a diner just on the outskirts of the reservation.

"Thank God," said Dean. "I could use a real breakfast. Not that I don't love these, but Twizzlers only get you so far."

Fortunately, they were meeting their contact there too.

Dean and Sam walked into the diner and scanned the room.

Dean always checked where the exits were, any escape routes. It was second nature to him. He always sat facing the door if he could help it.

In this case, his contact was already in that seat.

A Lakota Sioux man around his father's age was sitting in the far booth of the diner. He waved at them.

Sitting next to him was one of the most beautiful women Dean had ever seen.

Her hair was long and black like silk. She wore a few beads and feathers in it on one side, along with a porcupine quill necklace that had turquoise in it.

"Greetings, Sam and Dean Winchester," intoned the man. "I see you have come on a long journey."

"Dad, knock it off," said the young woman as they sat down. "He likes to perform a little bit. I'm Tracy Yellowfeather. This is my dad, Solomon."

"I'm Sam, this is my brother, Dean," said Sam. "What can we do for you, sir?"

"Many moons ago - "

Tracy erupted into giggles.

Dean was utterly charmed.

" _Dad,_ " she said.

Solomon smiled.

"There's a haunting here," said Tracy. 

"On the reservation?" asked Sam.

"No, here at the diner," said Tracy. "It just started a while back. Dolly - she's the head waitress, she'll be here in a half-hour to start her shift - told us the weird stuff started a couple weeks ago. We wanted to meet you first to catch you up on things. But the weird part is that nobody died or anything. It just sort of - started happening. And Dad's got a lot of wackadoo contacts, one of them happened to be _your_ dad. He tells me you hunt monsters. Me, I'm here to make sure you're legit."

"We aren't here to pull a fast one on your dad," Dean reassured her. "We really do hunt monsters."

Tracy raised an eyebrow and giggled again.

"Oh, no," she said, "I'm here to make sure my dad doesn't pull a fast one on _you._ "

Solomon Yellowfeather smiled at them serenely.

Tracy took a drink of her coffee.


	24. January 11th - Las Vegas, Evening of the Second Day - Now

By the time they finally returned to the hotel, they were beat.

"I think I'm gonna hit the hay," said Sam, yawning. "We can start on the research in the morning."

Sam disappeared, off to his own room. He'd insisted they each get one of their own this time.

The place was fancy, Dean couldn't argue with that. It was also Western-themed, which he absolutely loved, because it appealed to his whole cowboy thing. Doors connected their rooms. Dean's room was in the middle of both with a beautiful view of the Strip.

He enjoyed a glass of bourbon, standing in the dark hotel room as he stared out at the city lights, wondering what it was like to be a rich man who could do this all the time.

Unfortunately, he already knew that wasn't going to be in the cards for him.

He knew it was late, but he decided to check on Castiel before he went to sleep himself.

Dean walked through the little hallway connecting their rooms. A soft golden light bled from Castiel's room into the space. The door was slightly ajar.

Dean was about to speak when the words died on his lips.

There, sitting on his bed, leaning back against the headboard, was Castiel.

Bare-chested and bare-legged, wearing only his underwear.

Dean just stared, his heart in his throat, glass of bourbon forgotten.

He'd often imagined Castiel like this, but had never really seen him without his clothes.

Then - 

he watched as Castiel's fingers skated down his well-built, tanned chest, gliding lower and lower. Cas's beautiful features were cast in a play of light and shadow by the dim golden light of the bedside lamp, the only light source in the room.

Castiel pulled his underwear down, hard cock springing free.

His mouth dropped open, soft and slightly astonished, as he touched himself tentatively, and made a soft little sound.

Dean's brain had completely stalled.

_God. Oh God. I shouldn't be watching this._

Dean stared intently through the crack in the door.

_He seems uncertain, like -_

_oh my God has he never done this before?_

Dean watched, enrapt, as Castiel put his hand around his dick and gave it an experimental tug.

The surprised, wrecked sound that dropped from those full lips made Dean press a hand against the erection in his own jeans, making his eyes roll back in his head as he snatched his hand away. There would be no way of doing anything silently, Dean could feel his desire caught in his throat, and he'd always been _very sensitive_ and also _very loud._

If Castiel ever _did_ touch him that way, Dean already knew he'd be an absolute mess.

His tough facade was just that - a facade. Tough talkers tended to feel things more intensely than anyone else, and Dean was no exception.

He had so much to give, if only there were takers.

He felt awash in guilt and shame, staring at his best friend exploring his body for possibly the first time, and yet could not manage to tear himself away.

Castiel touched the tip of his dick with a finger, swiping up the precome gathered there. His soft, pink tongue extruded from his lips as he took a taste of it.

_I wonder what he tastes like. I wonder if he'd taste **me** -_

The angel leaned back, one arm behind his head, as he luxuriated against the headboard and bucked up into his curled fist.

_Oh yeah. That's it. C'mon, Cas. Let me see you._

" _Dean._ "

Terror shot through Dean as if someone had pulled a trigger. Had Cas caught him?

But no - 

" _Oh, Dean -_ "

Now Dean was completely glued to the scene in front of him.

He thought of his own private time earlier in the day.

Cas thought of him - like this? 

Cas thought -

Dean's brain was having a very difficult time in general.

He wondered what would happen if he were brave enough to step over the threshhold, to confront Castiel, if Castiel would be ashamed or embarrassed or just bold and straightforward like he was with everything else, and invite Dean to join him - 

but Dean was kind of a coward, at least when it came to stuff like this, so his feet stayed firmly planted in place while he watched an angel fall to pieces with Dean's name on his lips.

" _Oh. Oh!_ " 

Cas was really going for it now, the expression on his face one of shocked wonderment, helpless as he chased that high -

_maybe his first? maybe - I'll get to see -_

Cas's hips stuttered.

Dean felt his entire body bow forward a little in an involuntary, beautiful shudder that he felt throughout his entire being, washing across his skin.

_Baby. Oh. Come on. Give it. Give it to me. C'mon sweetheart you've been waiting so, so long._

_Let go._

_For me._

"Ah!" shouted Castiel, pushing into his fist on a huge thrust.

Dean's toes curled against the carpet. He was breathing so hard now he was certain Castiel must have heard.

Castiel was wild, unhinged. Dean had never seen him like that, all that angelic focus and concentration intent on his next move, as if he were completely under the influence of his desire.

" _Ahhh --hhh ---_ " he moaned, on yet another huge thrust.

Dean couldn't blink. He wouldn't. 

He watched as the angel held himself at the crest, at that precipice, and he _thrummed_ with the need to help Castiel over this last little obstacle to the pure joy he knew awaited, the pleasure he wanted to see, no, to _feel,_ coursing through the angel and to know that he had been the cause.

Cas looked so needy, like he _had_ to come, he _needed -_

_Baby, please. I'm right here. I lo -_

_Please, Cas._

_C'mon._

_**Castiel.** _

Suddenly, Cas fucked up into his fist with a huge, juddering motion, nearly knocking the lamp off the table.

" _Hahhh - ahhh - ah! ah! ah!_ " Cas chanted, as if he were unable to stop himself.

And then, right before Dean's wide-eyed stare, Castiel looked down at his cock and made a strange, relieved, whining sigh that turned slowly into a long, shuddering gasp -

shouted, " _Dean!_ "

and he _came,_ fucking _hard,_ all over himself, all over his stomach, his cock twitching so hard with it that Dean was sure it must be painful, and Cas wept with it, the relief of it, as he floated down from his high.

He idly rubbed some of the come into his skin.

Then he lifted his fingers again, poked out that soft tongue, and tasted it.

Dean made a strangled sound, something like _hnnngh_ -

and Castiel glanced up suddenly, terror in his eyes, and something like guilt, like being caught, and -

_God that's hot, you look so fuckin' guilty, guilty because you were thinking about_ **_me_ ** _the way I think about you, and you think it's_ _**wrong** or **bad**_ _oh, you dirty fucking angel -_

"Dean?"

Dean froze. That definitely wasn't a sex thing, that was Castiel returned to sanity and now calling out for him.

Cas couldn't find him here, watching him like a creep.

The angel got up, heading straight for him.

Before he could do anything else stupid, Dean fled.


	25. January 11th - Outside the Diner - Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING for implied child abuse

Just as he had been dreading it would, Dean's phone rang.

He didn't even have to pull it out of his pocket to know that it was John calling.

"Excuse me, gotta take this," he said. "It's my dad."

Sam gave Dean a concerned little look, but Dean waved him off.

He went outside the diner and stood in the late afternoon sunlight under a clear blue sky, his boots crunching on the snow and ice.

Dean answered the phone.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello, son," John's voice came down the line to him. "Whereabouts are ya?"

There was a false warmth and friendliness in his tone.

Dean knew this was a test. He'd walked into plenty of them before.

"I'm at the diner just off the reservation, sittin' with the Yellowfeathers and Sam," Dean said.

There was silence on the other end.

"Oh," said John, and there was a strange note of disappointment in his voice.

_Did you actually **want** me to fuck up so you could yell at me?_

_Are you **disappointed** that I fucking drove all this way on uppers just to make you happy?_

Dean reminded himself _no backtalk_ and just waited.

"See that girl Tracy?" asked his dad.

Dean looked over at her. She was laughing with Sam.

"Yeah?" said Dean, wondering if John was about to tell him she was possessed or something.

"You gonna go for it?" asked John.

"I - what?"

"We're not going to have another Poughkeepsie," said John evenly.

Dean could feel himself turning bright red.

Poughkeepsie was the one place -

that's where John had caught him, the first time.

Sent him away to the most violently abusive juvie hall he could find.

Dean had somehow charmed his way out of there before they could really dig in with the conversion therapy option.

John had maintained an odd interest in Dean's sex life ever since, congratulating him on his conquests, giving him tips.

"Dean?" asked John, and there was something deadly in his voice.

"Yes, sir," said Dean. "No more Poughkeepsie."

"Good," he said. "Now, if you go for it, remember hunters can't have stationary lives. Love 'em and leave 'em, kid, always. You got protection?"

_She's half your age! She's **my** age! She's a **human being,** she's a **person!**_

Dean could hardly hear his father over how loud his inner voice was shouting.

_And you know what? So am I!_

"No glove, no love, son," said John.

Dean's brain sifted quickly through a multitude of answers that he discarded just as fast.

_Why the hell are you so invested in my sex life anyway?_

_Scared your son might be into guys?_

_I've banged **tons** of women all over this country, you've got a weird thing going on here._

_They say it's hereditary, you know._

_I never see you making eyes at any dudes, but you sure are interested in "inspecting" me and Sam._

_Wait - is that the only way you can see - is that the reason -_

Dean's brain slammed down so hard on _that_ particular conclusion that he just blurted out:

"Yes, sir, understood, sir," to distract himself.

"Glad to hear it."

"So, are you going to help?" asked Dean. "Will you be meeting us out here?"

"No, I've got something more important to do," said John. "You boys'll have to take care of the less important cases, okay?"

Dean stared at Sam through the window and momentarily wished he had the same rebellious streak.

"Okay," Dean said in a glum voice.

There was a click on the other end of the phone.

Dean had to do everything in his power not to throw it on the ground and smash it into a million pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi my name is Dean and I haaaaaate their parents


	26. January 12th - Las Vegas, Third Day - Now

Dean _could not stop fidgeting._ He was restless.

He was driving his brother insane.

He wiggled his leg while they sat at the table. His tie felt uncomfortably hot, and he kept digging at it, pulling it from his neck.

Cas was -

he couldn't even _look_ at Cas.

Sam kept snarking at him about it, _stop shaking the table, Dean,_ and _it's really unprofessional, Dean_ , and eventually cornered him to ask if he and Cas had a fight or something because of _course_ that would be the reason for his discomfort around the guy, not that he'd witnessed the most erotic scene of his entire lifetime.

They stood together at the hotel in Sam's room, where the evidence had been gathered.

"Okay, so, here's what we've got so far," Sam was saying.

Dean studiously ignored Castiel.

He sensed a kind of hurt rejection emanating off the angel.

Dean felt awful but did not know how to tell him, in so many words, that he wanted a slice of angel food cake more than anything.

So, Dean being Dean, he just blustered and fidgeted and probably set back any opportunity he might have with Castiel about two more years at least.

"Something is killing drifters," said Sam. "The black-eyed children are a new urban legend and nobody knows what their deal is, how they operate, or how to defeat them. But we don't know if they're the actual culprits here or some kind of death omen. So far we have two victims, which isn't much to go on, and their only link seems to be that they're drifters. Honestly, I'm not sure we'd even be on this case if it wasn't for the black-eyed children. Drifters die all the time - sorry, Dean, but you know it's true."

Dean gave his brother a sharp nod. He did not need to be told that drifters were the forgotten, the unremembered, the people who did work on the American road that most people never even knew existed alongside them, keeping the country going all this time. 

Like a cuckoo clock, people never saw the cogs on the inside, only the result.

"Additionally, there is some kind of apparition manifesting to protect people," said Sam. "Although it doesn't seem to have done so in this case. I think these might be two different things. So, what are your thoughts?"

Dean did _not_ want to share his current thoughts.

But somewhere in there a tendril of what Sam was saying actually got through to him.

"Wait a sec," he said. "If these black-eyed kids are a new urban legend, could the protective one be too? Maybe that's why we can't find anything in the lore. I mean. These things we fight all come from stories, and it's not like people have stopped telling those."

"Huh," said Sam, biting the end of the pencap and pulling it off with his teeth. He jotted down what Dean had said on his notepad and stared at it for a while. "You know what. You may be on to something here."

"Ain't just a pretty face," said Dean with a grin.

"Tulpas are not the only creature that manifests due to belief," Castiel intoned.

Dean's eyes closed briefly as that low growl filled the room.

"Yeah, the thing is, all stories come from somewhere," said Sam, getting really geared up now. "We've seen these types of manifestations before. Ghosts that aren't ghosts. You remember, Dean?"

Dean pulled himself out of a fantasy about licking chocolate syrup off Castiel's chest to cough and say:

"Uh, yeah. That thing in - where was it?"

"Pine Ridge."

"Wow," said Dean. "Yeah. Talk about back in the day."

The brothers looked at each other for a moment.

"You know that PO box I had around here, I think I'll go check it out tomorrow."

"That's a good idea. I'm going to go see Stacy," said Sam. "See if I can get any other leads."

"Aw, is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Shut up."

***

Unfortunately, Dean hadn't reckoned with the fact that this left him alone with Castiel.

Who, instead of wanting to go down to the blackjack tables, insisted he would rather stay in his room and read a book.

Although Dean made a show of disappointment, he really hated the casinos. They reminded him of finding his dad slumped over some table or another, blackout drunk, and he'd have to drag him back and clean him up so that Sam would have something that resembled a father.

So night had fallen again and Dean was alone in his room again and Castiel was ostensibly reading a book in _his_ room after he had grumped at Dean to go away because his restlessness was distracting.

Dean didn't know what to do with himself. He'd never been a particularly jumpy person but right now it was like every nerve ending was alight.

He hadn't taken care of himself after what he'd seen. There hadn't been time.

Dean suddenly had a terrible idea.

It was also a wonderful idea.

He poured himself another glass, brandy this time, and looked out over the city.

And he waited.

Eventually, he couldn't help himself. He had to look.

He was fairly certain that he'd be disappointed.

Besides, he still had the excuse that he'd just come by Castiel's room to talk, if he got caught out right away anyway.

Dean walked into the little hallway between their rooms.

Castiel wasn't there.

Just as Dean was about to turn around, a little dejected, the bathroom door opened.

Dean's eyes dragged up the body of an entirely naked Cas.

He forgot to breathe.

Sure, Dean had seen what he had seen the night before, but that was from a distance and Cas had been laying down, still wearing underwear.

Castiel's body was like something out of Dean's most dangerous dreams.

Thickly built, tanned _everywhere_ and that was only possible if Castiel went tanning in the nude. Dean thought about that for a moment, Cas on a tropical beach, sand sticking to his body, his hair salt-mussed as he stared at Dean with those ocean-blues. 

Castiel's long, solid legs and strong thighs were softly illuminated by the golden light of the lamp. Dean's mouth watered as he imagined licking at an errant droplet of water coursing down his skin.

But as hot as Cas was, and as strong as he was, all that whipcord-strong muscle hidden beneath those layers, the flash of those blue eyes, the sinful, delightful curve of his _ass -_

Dean had to wrench his eyes up before things got a little too heated for him to make an excuse if he got caught. 

Still -

the thing that was _really_ getting to Dean, was how _confident_ he was, how sure in his skin, how perfectly at ease. He stood there, naked and completely self confident because no one had told him not to be.

As Dean was appreciating this fact, and wondering just how utterly dominant the angel might turn out to be in bed, he was treated to the sight of Castiel in silhouette in front of the same table lamp as he took his cock in his hand, throwing his head back with a groan.

_God, he could just fuckin' manhandle me down onto the bed, up against the wall, like it was nothin'._

This time Dean drew back behind the door.

He took his own cock out and whined at the contact. 

He should not be doing this, he should turn around and walk away right the fuck now -

Castiel ran his fingers through his hair as he lazily jerked his cock. His eyes were closed.

"Dean," he sighed. 

Dean bit his bottom lip as he gently set down the glass of brandy on the shelving.

He caressed his own skin, behind his ear, holding his neck, as he watched Castiel through the sliver in the door.

_Wanna choke on that pretty cock of yours, Castiel. Wanna get down on my knees for you._

_Ain't that what you angels get off on? Worship?_

_Well, I'll worship the hell out of you._

Cas's hand moved down from his hair to pinch one of his nipples, making him cry out softly.

_Love how you do that, Cas. Fuckin' touch yourself for me._

_Fuck. Want you to hold me down and fuck me. Fuckin' dominate me. Shut me up._

_I'd be so loud for you, Castiel -_

_but I can be quiet._

_I can be so, so good for you._

Castiel cried out then, and Dean watched the muscles of his ass flex as he fucked into his waiting fist. He looked down at his cock like he had the first time, but this time with an air of dominant confidence, as if he were staring down at an invisible lover -

_as if he were staring down at me, pushing my face into the bed, showing me he fuckin' owns me._

The moan that almost made its way out of Dean's throat terrified him. He almost couldn't stop it. As Cas fucked into his hand faster, Dean did the same. It was like they were together, like they were fucking each other, as Dean kept time with Castiel's thrusts.

Watching Castiel, Dean had no idea how he could look so vulnerable and open, but so confident and dominant, almost warlike, at the same time.

Like he wanted to conquer, but the conquest was already a given.

Because it was _Cas._

Dean watched him indulge in this deep and wonderful fantasy with the kind of abandon Dean had never seen on any other man.

Because he wasn't like any other man.

_Beautiful. You're beautiful._

" _I can't,_ " Castiel panted softly, startling Dean a little. " _I shouldn't. We shouldn't._ "

Then he moaned again and redoubled his efforts.

Dean had to tighten his fist hard to keep from coming.

_Oh fuck, you really **do** think it's dirty and wrong and you're fucking **getting off** on how wrong it is, how much you want to fuck me, can't fuckin' help it, can you, Castiel?_

_Well, me neither. Wantin' to fuck my angel ain't exactly **good** , now is it? Shit. Shit. Fuck - **fuck** -_

_ohfuckohnononofuckfuckfuck -_

" _I have to,_ " Castiel suddenly hissed between his teeth. " _I have to, I fucking **need it** \- _"

Dean clamped his hand down over his own mouth as his orgasm punched through him, his cock spurting as he nearly collapsed from it, and he watched as Castiel came at the same time as he did, his cock striping the floor as he came and came and came.

Somehow, even then, he retained that victorious, dominant look, and a little self-satisfied smile.

Dean wondered what the fantasy-version of him was doing in Castiel's head.

 _Probably presenting like a little bitch,_ supplied his still-overwrought brain. _You fucking **love** to get pushed around, and nobody could take you and teach you a lesson like Castiel could._

Dean watched in a daze as Castiel waved a hand and the come vanished from the floor. 

He wondered briefly why the hell Cas would be doing that out here instead of in the shower like any normal man.

He wondered why the door had been left open if Cas had been planning on -

Dean needed to get the hell out of there.

He turned around, grabbed the brandy from the shelving, and went back into his own room.

***

After cleaning up and changing into his pajama pants, Dean crawled into bed.

He drank the last of the brandy.

He thought of the utter, stunning, incredible beauty of his best friend and angel.

Dean fell asleep with a jumble of confused thoughts in his head, but at least he'd let off some steam.

He had the terrible conviction that it might be the kind of thing he might not just get over.


	27. January 11th - 12th - Pine Ridge Reservation - Then

"Anything wrong?" Sam asked immediately, as Dean slid into the diner booth.

"Nah, just checking that we got here okay," said Dean.

Sam gave him a strange look.

"That's...kinda unlike him, isn't it?"

Dean clamped his jaw shut and turned his attention back to the Yellowfeathers.

"So when's this Dolly gettin' here?" he asked.

"Soon. I can sense her presence," said Solomon.

Tracy rolled her eyes and pointed at the door.

Dean turned around.

A beautiful older woman with long blond hair walked into the diner, making the bell over the door jingle. She reminded Dean of women from old movies, like if Sophia Loren had been blond.

She waved at them, then took off her coat and hung it on the rack.

When she walked toward them, high heel shoes clacking on the floor, she swayed from side to side.

 _Now she's classy,_ thought Dean, who had never seen a woman like her in real life.

"Dolly, these are the Winchesters," said Tracy. "They're here to deal with our little problem."

Dolly looked at them. Her eyes snagged on Sam.

"Charmed, I'm sure," she said, staring at him.

Dean frowned.

He gave Tracy the once-over, but it was half-hearted.

"I, uh, I'm Sam," Sam said. "They tell us you've got a ghost problem."

Dolly blushed.

Now they were very curious.

"I'm not sure I'd call it a _problem,_ " she began. "Hang on a sec, sweetcheeks, let me get a chair."

Dean looked at Sam and mouthed _sweetcheeks?_ at him.

But Sam just gave him his patented _you're just jealous_ face.

Dolly dragged a chair up to the table, sat down and crossed her legs.

"So, I've been working here for about ten years, give or take," she said. "Wanted to go to Hollywood when I was a kid, be an actress. Then I met my husband. Fell in love. This is his place. Or was. He died here, a stroke. No warning at all."

"Chaska Standing Hawk was a good man," said Dolly. "I miss him like the blazes. But you know. You gotta live your life, get over it."

She winked at Sam.

"Then there were," she said, "a few incidents."

"Incidents, ma'am?" Dean prompted.

Dolly smiled.

"Yeah," she said. "Kisses on the back of my neck, like Chaska used to give me while I was cooking."

She smiled and looked off into the distance out the window.

"And then, other things."

Dean cleared his throat.

Sam jumped in at that moment, which was probably a good thing.

"You do understand that it's probably not Chaska?" he asked. "You need to be careful."

Dolly smiled at him.

"It's so nice, how worried you are about me," she said. "And I wasn't all that concerned, but the Yellowfeathers have been family friends for years and they wanted to make sure everything was on the up and up. So far as could be ascertained, anyway."

"Maybe it's because the diner is built on an ancient Indian burial ground," said Solomon in a spooky voice.

" _Ugh, Dad,_ " said Tracy.

***

A while later, Dean and Tracy found themselves outside while Dolly and Sam discussed a good time for them to return and witness the phenomena.

"Doesn't sound like Dolly wants to get rid of her ghost problem," Dean commented, as he reached the Impala.

"Yeah, I get it," said Tracy. "And if it's nothing, then it's nothing. But if it isn't, well. You know how it goes."

Dean decided it was time to shoot his shot.

He gave her the quick once-over.

"So," he began.

Tracy noticed this and laughed in his face.

"You're very funny, Dean Winchester," she said.

Dean gaped at her.

" _Shot down! in a blaze of glory,_ " she sang, grinning at him.

"Bon Jovi?" Dean scoffed, to cover his reaction. He wasn't used to rejection from women and he had to admit he was a little hurt.

"Hey, Bon Jovi rocks, on occasion," she told him. She handed him a piece of paper.

"Here's the address of the local motel," she said.

She gave him an evaluating look, as she stood there with her hand on her hip. She pushed her long hair over her shoulder.

"You know," she said. "I get the feeling that you get laid a lot, and you don't get told _no_ all that often."

"Uh. Thanks," said Dean, still smarting a little from her laughter.

"Thing is," she said, "I think _getting laid_ is not what you need right now. Seems to me like you could use a friend."

Dean was immediately reminded of his promise to Sola. _Friends first._

He wondered why he'd completely ignored it. Then again, the habit was so ingrained in him, and especially after that phone call from his dad -

and now, here was this woman, helping him to keep his promise to Sola.

"I'd like that," Dean heard himself say.

"Good," she said. "Because tomorrow, we're going ice fishing."

"We are?"

"I don't make the rules."

***

True to her word, Tracy met Dean with a couple of fishing poles.

"Sam didn't want to come?" she asked.

"Nah, I think he wants to sleep," said Dean. "Likes his alone time, if you know what I mean."

"I take it you don't get much."

"Not really."

 _And not in general,_ thought Dean. _I don't get much of my own at all._

"Suits me," she said. "Let's go fishing."

***

Tracy showed him how to use the ice auger to make a hole in the lake ice.

"Not a lot goes on after this," she said. "Mostly waiting around, drinking beer and talking."

"Oh, so was this your ploy to get me to open up?" he asked.

She turned to look at him.

"No ploy," she said. "God, Dean, don't you have _any_ friends at all?"

Dean thought of his cell phone full of names he never quite got around to deleting.

Because he'd make friends, sure, and had to leave every single one of them behind.

"We travel a lot," said Dean. "Not a lot of time for commitments or deep relationships, you know?"

"Well, Dean Winchester," said Tracy. "Consider me the one who won't walk away."

Dean huffed a laugh.

"Sorry, you seem like a nice girl," he said. "But they all do, one way or the other."

"Well, you never met Tracy Yellowfeather," said Tracy. "Look, this rez is the poorest in the country, did you know that? We gotta stick together. Lots of people leave for work, but they always come back. Don't mean I love 'em any less. And here you are, and here I am. _Something_ brought us together."

"You guys seem pretty upbeat for people living in a place that's so poor," Dean observed.

Tracy shrugged.

"And what's the point in sad-sacking it?" she asked. "Doesn't make anybody happy, sure as hell doesn't make _me_ happy. There's _always_ a bright side, Dean."

There was a little tug on the line.

"Okay, now watch," said Tracy, and she hauled in her catch.

It was a tiny leather drawstring purse. She opened it and shook its contents out onto her open palm.

Sitting there were two small agates.

"Huh," she said.

"That happen a lot?" asked Dean.

"No?" she said. "Sometimes stuff gets snagged, and the river flows through nearby, but this is - kinda weird."

She looked at the agates, rolling them over in her hand.

"Dad calls these _powerful rocks_. But I can never tell with him. He's just such a _dad,_ you know? I mean, apart from all the silly dreams-and-portents Magic Indian stuff he likes to do for visitors. He likes to make up stories, try to pull my leg, tells me stupid jokes. Things like that, you know what I mean?"

"No," said Dean truthfully. "My dad isn't like that at all."

Tracy gave him a strange look.

"Really? I thought most dads were like that."

"He's not most dads."

"Well, technically, this is _your_ catch," she told him. "So the agates are yours, if you want them."

Dean looked down at the wet rocks in her palm. They were beautiful, in their own way, one of them a combination of beautiful blues and greens, the other a combination of browns and whites, like a union of the earth and the sky.

He remembered his other promise to Sola, about powerful rocks. He remembered, this time.

"I'll take 'em," he said. "But only if you promise me that we're gonna end up with a fish supper."

"Deal," said Tracy, and dropped the stones into his hand.

He put them into his pocket.

"You ever had beer-batter walleye?" Tracy asked.

He shook his head.

"'Cause you're going to," she told him.

"You seem pretty confident."

"What can I say?" she shrugged. "I'm Solomon Yellowfeather's daughter. There ain't no confidence like the confidence absolute bullshit can give you."

Dean laughed.

He couldn't believe how good it felt.

Something clenched around his heart released, and he felt free, a little giddy with it.

"Are you sure _you're_ not the magic one?" asked Dean. "'Cause you seem to know a lot."

"Sure, I'm the magic one," said Tracy. "Can I interest you in a magical bridge I'm selling?"

This time, Dean's laughter was so loud it echoed through the pines.


	28. January 13th - Las Vegas, Fourth Day - Now

If Dean had been restless the day before, now he was absolutely mortified.

He tried to avoid Cas as much as possible.

Thing was - 

Cas just kept _touching him._

Maybe Cas did it all the time and Dean had never noticed before?

But no, that wasn't possible, considering how he lit up like Christmas every damn time that trenchcoat accidentally brushed past him or his heart quickened when he put a friendly hand on Cas's shoulder before all this happened.

Now, though -

_Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas._

It was like his heartbeat knew only one word, and it lived in the pulse in his veins, along with guilt and shame and that dark rush of forbidden excitement despite them.

And everything that happened had a completely innocent explanation.

Castiel's fingers brushing his when he handed Dean his coffee.

A strange lingering touch on the back of Dean's neck when he went to straighten his tie.

There was a terrifying, dizzying moment when he thought Cas was going to _kiss him -_

Cas striding toward him, trenchcoat swirling around him, that same intent look in his eyes as he'd seen the night before, that perfect utter ease and confidence, that absolute conviction that _you're mine and you **will** obey me, **boy** -_

but no, he walked right past Dean at the last second, apparently out of concern that he had caught sight of one of the black-eyed children and of course he "must protect you at all costs, Dean, after all, you're a drifter too" -

Dean had to stand there for a long time before he got his heartbeat under control and eventually remembered to breathe.

Sam finally took him aside and gave him a dressing-down over it.

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with you right now but whatever it is, _make it right,_ " said Sam, glowering at him and storming off without giving Dean a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Sam was right, though. Dean knew it. They were on a case. He needed to get his head in the game.

They were going to have to leave Vegas soon, because yet another murder had happened.

This time in Las Cruces, New Mexico.

***

Dean went to the post office, just on the off chance.

"Sorry, we don't retain mail from po boxes that aren't paid for," said the guy behind the desk, a little sniffily.

"Gotcha," said Dean, and he left, feeling a little out of sorts.

He stood in the bright sunshine and wondered about Sola.

But things were different back then, people fell out of touch all the time.

He wondered why now, of all times, he was reminded of those old days and the half-forgotten memories lost to booze or drugs or just some things that Dean preferred to keep buried.

Then again, Sola's house was on the way to Las Cruces from Vegas.

He was sure he could convince Sam to make a detour.

***

Sam had exchanged contact information with Stacy. Since he was a huge nerd and these were modern times, Dean was certain they had something resembling a chance.

Sam was good with his correspondence.

Dean was barely decent at communicating with the people right in front of him.

It was strange, he thought; after all this time he'd gotten worse at emotions and sharing, not better. He remembered thinking, back then, that one day he'd be different.

That he wouldn't really turn into his father.

He'd shouted at himself once, saying much the same.

Turns out, old habits die hard.

***

And new ones, apparently, because Dean just didn't know when to call it quits.

He knew what a stupid, dangerous game he was playing, but like an addict he couldn't stay away.

That's how he'd found himself standing in the darkness behind Castiel's doorway for the third night in a row. Cas had never closed the door.

_Probably 'cause he has no idea that his best friend has been watching him like a weirdo._

Dean reprimanded himself, called himself disgusting, bargained with himself to leave things well enough alone.

It didn't work, mainly because that was the way Dean talked to himself all the time anyway.

He stood there, brandy glass in hand, in the sliver of light cast from the open door.

_You're all kinds of messed up, you know that, Dean Winchester?_

Dean did know. 

Didn't seem to stop him.

He watched Castiel climb onto the bed shirtless, wearing black sweatpants.

He knelt there, with his back facing Dean, for several minutes.

Dean shifted awkwardly. His dick was already on board with whatever was about to happen, but since very little was actually happening, Dean wasn't really sure what to think.

Suddenly, there was a loud cracking noise -

and two big, beautiful black wings emerged from Castiel's back, unfolding gracefully, long flight feathers dragging across the floor.

Dean's jaw dropped.

He stared. 

And stared.

The feathers were glossy and iridescent. They changed colors, purple and green and blue and yellow, like an oilslick on the ground at a gas station.

Dean had always found those inexplicably beautiful, the magic in the mundane.

Now, here was Castiel, wings spread wide, as Dean drank his fill.

_I didn't even think he had real wings. Not ones I could see, anyway._

_God, you're beautiful._

_Beautiful._

That was the second time Dean had thought that word in relation to Castiel. 

It wasn't a word that occurred to him often, but he didn't know anything else that came close to the way he wanted to describe how the angel looked to him, or how he felt when he looked at him, this incredible, delicate ache.

Castiel had pulled the sweatpants down, halfway down his ass, freeing his cock.

Dean's breath caught in his throat.

He tried to look everywhere at once, from the beautiful wings to the tight line of the band on the sweatpants pressing into the firm muscle of Castiel's ass. From this angle, Dean couldn't see much of what was going on at the front, but he watched Cas's elbow move and knew that he was jacking himself very slowly with a light touch.

_Wanna see you like this for me. God, I'd do anything._

_Fuckin' blessed._

Then -

Castiel suddenly buried his other hand in the feathers and _pulled._

" _Ah!_ " he yelled, probably the loudest Dean had ever heard him shout, and then, softer, " _Dean. Touch me._ "

Okay, now Dean was fully hard. He hadn't even taken a sip of his brandy, completely transfixed by the show going on in front of him.

Then, he saw the joints of the wings grow damp, where they met Castiel's back.

Some kind of clear fluid started dripping down from them.

_Fuck. Is that some kind of angelic sex thing, because -_

_oh. oh. oh fuck. ohmyfuckinggod -_

Dean wanted to shove his hands into Castiel's feathers.

He wanted to use Castiel's beautiful wings as handles as he fucked into him, and to come on his feathers, messy and hot.

He wanted to see those wings up and out, radiating dominance as Castiel railed him within an inch of his life.

He wanted it all, fuck, he wanted Castiel, he just _wanted._

Cas was pulling at his feathers even harder now, whimpering like he wanted someone else to do it, like he needed -

like he _needed._

It took everything Dean had in him not to bust in there and offer to help.

" _Oh, Dean, fuck,_ " Castiel growled. " _I love the way you touch me. Wanted you for so long. I - I know we - we shouldn't, but I can't help myself around you -_ "

Dean was losing it.

_That's it. I know you think it's bad, Castiel, but I'm gonna make you feel so fuckin' good. You want to, don't you? Fuckin' need it, fuckin' dirty little angel, don't worry -_

Castiel threw his head back and groaned, the wings flapped a little, his hand worked into his feathers and he started jacking himself a little faster. His back was soaked now, dripping onto the sweatpants and making them damp, sticking to the lower curve of his ass.

_So desperate for it, sweetheart, ain't ya? Desperate for me._

" _Yes, yes, Dean,_ " whispered Castiel, almost as if he was responding to Dean's thoughts.

Dean pulled out his aching cock and just kept staring at those wings, the dampness on his back and the sodden feathers.

He had always been pretty kinky and for some reason this incredible, obvious alienness of Castiel was ringing all his bells.

" _I didn't think you'd like it,_ " Castiel sighed. " _This, my wings, how - how inhuman -_ "

_God, Cas, fuck. Fuck no. I fuckin' **love** it. You're so fucking hot, holy shit. Filthy little angel, feels so good, don't it? Fuckin' gonna ruin me for anyone else forever._

" _Oh, Dean,_ " murmured Castiel, pulling at his cock, apparently the Dean in his mind had also given him reassurance.

_Sweetheart, don't be shy with me, spread 'em out so I can see 'em._

_This what does it for you, Cas? Fuckin' exposing yourself to the Righteous Man?_

_So fuckin' dirty, just for me._

Castiel moaned, his head dropped forward.

His wings spread impossibly wide.

Dean could see the detail of each individual feather.

Now, Cas started rocking forward into his fist.

_Yeah. Yeah. Jesus. Just for me._

Dean watched as Cas swiped a hand through the liquid on his back and -

_holy shit, he's using it to jack off -_

_holy **shit** -_

Dean stared at the muscles twitching in Castiel's back, moving restlessly beneath his skin. The wings trembled, the feathers shifting a little as Cas kept going, little grunts and moans falling from his lips.

_God, yeah, just like that. Touch yourself for me, Castiel._

Dean was completely insane with it. He kept jacking his cock, but loose and slow like torture, he could feel it building and building in him but he wanted to make this last as long as Castiel was willing to last -

and he knew that angels had little concept of linear time, so if this was Cas going to town on himself angel-style, Dean figured that he was going to be here for some time to come.

As Dean watched, he noticed that the wings themselves were beginning to drip, some kind of visceral blue that shone and reminded Dean of Castiel's grace.

The utter otherworldliness of the whole thing reminded him of phosphoresence in pictures of far-off tropical places, of something sublime -

he should be terrified, in fact, he _was_ terrified, and that turned him on even more.

_Baby. God, you're so fuckin' hot. I want you to fuck me so hard I forget any name but yours._

_You want that, don't you? To own me. To possess me. So everybody knows I belong to you._

_I'm yours, Castiel._

_Forever._

Castiel shuddered, thrust forward on a groan and then gasped.

_There, you feel that, angel? Feels so fuckin' good. Want you to hold me down and own me._

" _Please, Dean, please,_ " babbled Castiel. " _Please, let me -_ "

_Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just - just wait a little longer -_

Dean couldn't believe how in sync they were, how perfect. He almost forgot that they weren't exactly sharing this private moment.

Cas's wings were shaking now with the effort of his staving off orgasm, holding himself at the precipice for fantasy-Dean.

" _They - they told me it was wrong, you know,_ " Castiel murmured. " _Loving you._ "

Something like a slow-motion car crash happened in Dean's brain and also in his pants.

_wait - you - you_

Dean came, on a blessedly silent scream, almost without realizing it was about to happen. He put his other hand out and caught it just in time.

Castiel -

_Castiel_

shouted something that sounded like Dean's name, and the lights flickered, and there was some kind of explosion that reminded Dean of when they would slap their hand against an angel banishment symbol, that kick of wind like a sonic boom -

a blue light flashed, and everything was pitched into darkness.

This time, Dean got the hell out of there as fast as he could, and hid in his own bathroom, panting.

After a while, he cleaned himself up a little and stared at himself in the mirror until his face lost all meaning.

_That's -_

_that's not possible, that's -_

Dean splashed some water on his face.

It was something a little foolish, yeah, but Dean just thought he and Cas were blowing off steam, the way men did, getting off like Dean had done in every single small town across the country.

Now, though -

he felt like he had stepped into something huge, a chasm like the Grand Canyon he was hopeless to comprehend or understand.

_No. No way. I must've misunderstood. There's no way -_

_(brilliant, perfect, beautiful, **holy** Castiel)_

_someone like him could - could -_

_I mean, sure, there's the sex part, but that could mean anything._

By the time Dean had shut the light off, he'd convinced himself that Cas didn't mean anything by it, just a fantasy, after all, angels are all about love and stuff, that must feature in their sex fantasies, hell, Dean didn't even think they _had_ sex fantasies, although that didn't really explain Balthasar or Gabriel or Anna.

_Yeah, that must be it. Can't hold a man accountable for his fantasies._

Right?

Dean went to bed, but he was wide awake for hours, staring out at the city lights.

Eventually, he fell into an uneasy sleep.


	29. January 14th - 15th - Pine Ridge Reservation, Second Day - Then

Dean wrote a hastily-scrawled letter to Sola.

" _Met a girl and made friends, just like I promised. Well, she made sure of it._

_Enclosing some rocks. Tracy tells me they are powerful. Hope you are well._

_-Dean_ "

He dropped it off at the post office and then he and Sam drove back to the diner.

***

Dolly was ferrying a plate of French toast and bacon to a table when Sam and Dean arrived.

"Take a seat, boys, be with you in a second," she called over the breakfast rush.

Dean's stomach growled as he stared down at the food in her hand.

Sam went to sit in the only free booth, and Dean followed.

"Let's have breakfast, I'm starving," he told his brother.

Over coffee, bacon, and eggs, they discussed what to do about the haunting.

***

"Okay," said Dolly, looking tired but happy as she slid into the booth next to Sam, sending him a wink. "I just wanted to say, thanks for coming, guys, but I honestly don't think there's much for you to do here. Breakfast's on the house, though, as a thank you for making it all this way."

"Dolly, spirits can become vengeful," said Sam. "Even if they weren't like that in life."

"Yeah, we gotta salt-n-burn the bones," Dean helpfully supplied. "I know it's gonna be hard to say goodbye again, but it'll be over."

Dolly shrugged.

"I mean, you can try," she said. "But I don't recommend digging up bodies around here. It's highly offensive."

"Then why'd the Yellowfeathers call us in?" asked Sam.

"Mostly to see if things would be okay for me, I think," said Dolly. "I don't think a couple of white guys going in to dig up a Sioux burial site is going to be looked upon favorably by anybody."

Dean leaned back in his seat.

"She's got a point there, Sam."

"Maybe it's something he owned?" asked Sam. "Do you still have any of his things?"

"No," said Dolly. "Nothing like that. Guys, really. I'm fine. Killing everything you touch isn't always the answer, you got that, right?"

Dean just gaped at her. Alternative possibilities had truly never occurred to him.

"I gotta get back to work," said Dolly. "Bottomless coffee though, okay? Stay as long as you like."

Dean watched her go back into the kitchen and shook his head.

"Man, this is the second time things turned out to be a bust," he said.

"She has a point. Maybe. Like with that lady, Dolores, and her helpful ghost."

"I don't know, Sam. When have you ever heard of it turning out okay?"

"Well, maybe we kind of write our own stories?" asked Sam. "Self fulfilling prophecies and all that."

The bell over the door to the diner jingled.

Tracy walked in, and Dean smiled at her.

She went up to the table and sat down.

"I know that look," she said. "You ain't gonna cut and run from me, Dean Winchester."

Sam gave him a sour look.

"Dean - "

"Nothin' like that, Sam," said Tracy. "Not interested. But hell, you guys never seem to get much of a break. I know it's winter, but you wanna come hang out with me and Dad?"

"I don't know," said Dean, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of sticking around now that a case was finished, even in an unsatisfying way. 

"Aw, c'mon," she said. "You're already booked at the motel until tomorrow, at least. Come out and spend a day with me and the old man."

Dean finally cracked a smile.

"All right."

***

Tracy insisted on driving them out to her house in her own car. She didn't want the Impala to take a beating on the bad roads.

Dean wasn't sure what he expected to find, but it turned out they just hung out around the house all day.

Tracy and Solomon lived in a little green-and-white striped trailer with a patchy yard around it. Lawn chairs sat here and there as well as a weber grill.

Solomon was sitting in one of the chairs with a bottle of beer.

"Welcome, paleface," he said to Dean.

"Dad, can you drop the movie Indian thing?" asked Tracy.

"No," said Solomon. "Take a beer, take a seat."

Dean grinned. He liked Solomon, weird as he was.

Tracy dropped a kiss on her father's head as she walked into the trailer and came back out with the beer cooler.

"Here you go," she said.

And they sat there around the fire while Solomon told wilder and wilder stories, despite the cold of the time of year, Dean felt warm.

Sam was yawning.

"I'm gonna crash," he said. 

"Guest bedroom's on the left down the hall," said Tracy.

"Thanks," he said.

"Kid needs a full eight hours," said Dean, shaking his head.

"So do you," said Tracy. "You can't live your life for other people. You deserve good stuff too, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, waving her away.

"My daughter is right, you know," said Solomon, the first thing he'd said that sounded anything like serious since he'd met them. "You deserved a better father. You deserved a better life."

Dean stared at him, waiting for some kind of wink or nod or indication that this was just Solomon up to his usual thing.

But Solomon just looked at him and took a drink of his beer.

Dean thought of how Tracy described her relationship with him, about the terrible dad jokes and the silly stories. About how Solomon seemed to love Tracy just as she was, no conditions.

_I wish you were my dad,_ Dean thought, but did not say.

***

The next day, they said their goodbyes.

"Don't be a stranger now, Dean Winchester," said Tracy. "You too, Sam."

"You let us know if there's a problem with Dolly and the ghost, okay?" said Sam. "Keep an eye out."

"Will do."

"I'll swing by whenever we're in the area," said Dean. "We're usually up here in the summer."

"Holdin' you to that," said Tracy. "See you in the summer."

"See you."

They waved, and drove off down the road.

After a few minutes, Sam turned to Dean.

"Did you mean that?" he asked.

"Sure did."

"It's just, you make a lot of promises to women. And you never keep them."

Dean nodded, eyes on the road.

"Things change, Sammy," he said. "Things change."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my own Yellowfeathers. Sure hope we can see each other again soon.


	30. January 14th - Las Vegas, Fifth Day - Now

As it turned out, they had to stay in Vegas one more night.

Dean wasn't sure what he thought about this development.

Sam was eager to spend another evening with Stacy and even told them not to wait up.

They were at the grocery store picking up some food.

Dean was thinking idly about sex, and about the things he'd seen the night before, and the potential things he might see that night.

Because if you're going to do something stupid, you may as well be all in, he figured.

_God. Castiel. I'd love to see him draw it out, tease himself til he can barely stand it._

_Would love to do it for him, just fuckin' -_

_He's so fucking hot! Man, those fucking wings. Wonder what does it for an angel?_

_I wonder what it's like. Being an angel._

_I wonder what it would be like if **I** was an angel._

_Maybe I'd have brown wings. Or speckled wings, 'cause freckles._

_And whatever that stuff was, when Cas was turned on -_

_maybe my back would be soaking with it, and so, so sensitive, because I'm like that already, fuckin' sensitive to touch - but I'd be so new to it, almost virginal, I guess? Then Cas would lay across me and cover my wings with his huge ones, growl into my ear, press me down on the -_

There was a loud crash behind him.

Dean turned around to see that Castiel had apparently walked directly into one of those spinning potato chip stands and knocked it over.

"Whoa! Hey, buddy, you all right over there?"

"I'm fine, Dean," groused Castiel. "Just - distracted. For a moment."

Dean gave Castiel a concerned look.

"Shit, are you okay?" he asked. "What is it, a curse?"

"I'm starting to think so."

"What?"

Sam barreled around the corner.

"Are you okay, Cas?" he asked.

"I'm fine," said Castiel, getting to his feet and waving his hand.

The stand and all the chips were back where they had been.

"Can we go, please?" asked Castiel.

"Sure thing," said Dean.

***

Night had fallen.

Dean was just waiting for it to happen again.

This time, he didn't pour himself any brandy.

He even dragged a chair in there and set it down. Not as if Cas ever came through this way. Dean was starting to wonder if he even realized this door communicated with Dean's room.

Dean unzipped his pants and sat there waiting for the show to start.

He had faith that it would, and had lost anything resembling shame about the situation.

He also hoped that Cas would bring the wings out again.

A few minutes later, he was not disappointed.

A puff of steam as Castiel opened the bathroom door after his shower, his body still damp from the heat.

He walked over to the bed and crawled onto it, slow and sinuous, like a cat.

Dean stared.

Castiel knelt on the bed, but facing him this time.

_Yeah. Fuckin' bring 'em out, Castiel. Do it._

Castiel bowed his head, and the now-familar _crack_ rent the air.

Slowly, those beautiful wings lowered a little so the long feathers touched the ground.

Castiel brushed a hand down his wing and shuddered at the contact.

_Tease yourself for me._

_C'mon._

_Soft and slow. So fuckin' slow._

" _Dean,_ " he sighed, just like he apparently always did.

Dean liked that Cas didn't seem to have any other fantasy people in his arsenal.

Castiel wrapped a hand around his cock, but his motions were lazy, almost torturously slow.

Dean took out his own hardening dick and followed Castiel's lead.

_There. You like that, Castiel? Wanna see you wet with it, fuckin' dripping. Fuck._

Cas dug his fingers into his feathers and wailed, absolutely shameless, fucking into his fist.

_God, you're so fuckin' hot. Look at you._

" _Dean, I - I -_ " moaned Castiel.

And there it was, that phosphorescent blue.

It dripped from his wings, from beneath the rows of feathers, casting a dim light.

He was so wet that Dean could see trails of the stuff from his back circling down around his waist and dripping down the curve of his hipbones.

Dean wanted to lick it off him. 

He wondered what it would taste like.

Castiel kept his movements steady and slow, as the blue seeped from his feathers and his cock stood hard and proud, nearly flush with his body.

" _Dean!_ " Castiel cried out on something like a sob.

_I'm here, sweetheart. Love to watch you like this. Love to see you feel like this._

The tableau in front of him was absolutely wrecking him:

Castiel, naked, wings spread wide with his fingers buried deep, his body illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp, color high on his cheeks and his hard cock in his hand, debauched and perfect.

Dean had a crazy thought. 

Private, in his own mind, he tested it out.

_Love you._

_Love you, Castiel._

Exhiliration, like he was on a rollercoaster in the first part of the drop, consumed Dean's entire being.

Castiel suddenly went _crazy._

His wings flared up and out, the topmost wing joints almost hitting the ceiling, as he threw his head back and moaned, thrashing with it, shoving his hand deeper into his feathers and fucking into his fist with abandon.

_No, no, shhhh - wait - can you be patient for me, sweetheart? Wait for me._

Castiel must have had the same idea as Dean, because he yanked his hands away from his feathers and his dick, knelt there with a furrow in his brow and clasped his hands in front of himself with a long, low whine.

_Good. You're so good for me, Castiel._

Dean forced his own hand away from his dick. It was only fair, after all.

He watched Castiel pant and listened to the delicious little pained sounds he made. The blue stuff dripped from his wings onto the bed. His legs and thighs were wet from the oil on his back. 

Castiel was a weapon held in the balance, and Dean was weak at the thought of the strength of him. His cock was aching and gave a painful throb as he stared at the angel looking meekly down at the coverlet.

_Love seein' you like this. God, all that power. Want you to dominate me, make me beg for it._

There was that little self-satisfied smirk again, like Cas somehow just _knew._

" _Fuck, Dean,_ " he growled, and Dean's hand was back on his cock, unable to help himself. 

He'd be hearing those two words, in that fucked-out, wrecked voice, for days.

_Wait a second._

Dean did not like where this was going.

 _Cas, can you actually_ **_hear_** _me?_

Castiel slowly looked up.

Directly toward the place where the door connected their rooms, and pinned him with those ocean blues.

Dean swallowed.

"Dean, are you here?"

 _Sam!_

Dean scrambled to put himself together, hauled ass and brought the damned chair with him so fast that he was _sure_ Cas must have heard _something._

He hopped into bed and under the covers just as Sam rounded the corner.

"Oh, good, you're still up," said Sam. "You won't believe what just happened."

 _Fucking don't believe what just happened_ _right here,_ Dean wanted to shout at his brother.

"Yeah? Uh. What?" asked Dean.

"Three more murders! One right here in Vegas."

"That's a lot of drifters."

"Well, like you said before. Who's gonna miss 'em?"

Dean gave Sam a sad look.

"I'm gonna go get Cas."

"Oka - _wait, Sam, no -_ "

"What is it, Sam?" 

And there stood Cas, fully clothed, trenchcoat and all, perfectly-mussed hair.

He raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"Cas, you won't believe this," said Sam, and launched into a long explanation that Dean didn't hear because he was staring at Castiel in total disbelief.

"You're right, we should look into it," said Castiel. "By the way, Dean."

Dean looked at Cas, alarmed.

"I believe this is yours."

Cas set down a glass of brandy on his bedside table.

_But - I didn't -_

_that was from **yesterday** you asshole, must've forgotten it in your rush to run away from the truth -_

Castiel gave him a cool look that said _you think you're in charge here? that's funny,_ and his lips turned up at one corner before he turned his attention back to Sam and the problem at hand.

As if Dean wasn't sitting in his bed staring up at Castiel like a drunken owl, totally shattered, confused, and with the absolute worst case of blue balls he'd ever had in his life.


	31. January 15th - On the Road - Then

"So. Where to, Sammy?"

"What do you mean? Thought we were back hunting."

"Nah. Just a little side job. Wasn't even really a job, when you think about it. So go ahead. Dealer's choice."

Sam's grin was blinding.

"You know what?" he said. "We've seen enough of the desert and it's the middle of the winter."

"Yeah?"

"Bayou country or Florida, your choice?"

"Florida."

"Really?"

"Let's do both. Florida first, then New Orleans for Mardi Gras when it's February. You want to spend the last couple weeks of January on the beach?"

"I thought you'd want to save Florida for Spring Break."

"Anything for my little brother."

The phone in Dean's pocket rang.

Briefly, he closed his eyes in frustration and then opened them again.

"Don't answer it," said Sam.

"You know I have to, Sammy," said Dean.

He pulled the phone out and opened it.

"He - "

"I thought I sent you on a job."

Dean's father's voice came down the line silk-smooth but with an undercurrent of accusation.

"And we did it."

"From what I hear tell, you didn't do shit. Ghost is still there, what kind of hunters are you boys turning out to be?"

Dean almost bit his tongue off with the words that crowded his throat.

"Well, sir, they asked to keep it there," said Dean. "Seemed pretty harmless, so -"

"And since when do civilians know what's best for them?" demanded John. "You've just endangered all those people -"

The phone was snatched away from his ear.

Dean tried to grab it back from Sam, who slapped his hand and mouthed _you just drive!_

Dean faced forward, staring at the lines of the highway, resolute.

"Yeah, you know what, Dad?" Sam shouted into the phone. "We don't _have_ to kill everything we come across! That's not always the answer! And no, I won't give the phone back to Dean. He's too nice to you! Leave us the hell alone, I thought you wanted us to hunt by ourselves. You're getting in _our_ way -"

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear.

"He hung up."

"Great, Sam," said Dean. "That's just great. What do you think -"

"What _I think_ ," said Sam, "is that we don't have to listen to him anymore!"

"What if he never calls again?"

" _Good!_ "

"Sam, _what if you go to college and he never calls again -_ "

_and I'm really alone -_

"Honestly, Dean?" asked Sam. "That's _good_. I don't know if you've noticed, but the man is abusive as fuck! I didn't even realize the extent of it until - until I told some people, and - and -"

"You _told_ some people?" Dean repeated. "What people? What the hell, Sam? You can't just go tell people about hunting, you know what Dad says about how important it is to keep them in the dark about monsters. People would riot!"

" _Or_ Dad just says that because it's easier to hide the abuse if we think we're doing something noble and heroic!" said Sam. "I know you want to see yourself as a hero, Dean, and you are! We both are, okay? But there is some _seriously_ messed up shit that John Winchester has done to us, has done to _you -_ and I'm honestly not sure if you even realize it!"

"Stop saying that," Dean said through clenched teeth. "Sam, he's our _dad._ "

"Yeah, yeah, _family is more important than anything,_ blah," said Sam. "Dean, you do know that this kind of secretive shit, this kind of weird bullshit about family importance, that's what cult leaders and abusers say?"

"He's _not,_ " Dean insisted, getting weirdly emotional in a way that was scaring him. "How fucking dare you, Sam."

"How dare I? How dare he! This shit is like, _textbook_ abusive."

"You learn that from these _people_ you told about our lives?"

"Dean, it's not _normal_ to - to keep this shit bottled up, okay? And -"

Sam gave him a look filled with some kind of emotion Dean didn't really want to identify.

"I can't be alone in this, man," said Sam quietly. "I can't be alone in knowing the things he's done to us and you pretending it's not true. I can't do that."

Dean didn't want any of it to be true. He didn't want to face what that might mean. Not only for himself but for Sam, and whether he'd done a good job protecting his little brother from the evils of the world when there was one right there with them the entire time.

He didn't want to look at what it meant about himself.

"It's not true," Dean doubled down. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Because if it was true - 

the implications of his own past, of his future, of everything -

"Okay, fine," said Sam in a dead voice.

He stared out the window. Dean knew that attitude; Sam giving up, and now he also knew that it meant _Sam looking ahead to being rid of this insanity._

_Sam looking ahead to life without Dean._

"I - I don't want to be alone with him," Dean finally admitted. "I'm fuckin' terrified, Sammy."

"It's Sam," his brother bit out, but Dean could see that he'd melted a little out of the corner of his eye. "Dean - "

"You're gonna go away and leave me alone with him," said Dean. "You got a chance to get out, go to college. And - and I can't look at it, Sam. I can't. Not that close."

"You don't _have_ to stay with him," said Sam, warming to the topic. "You could hunt alone."

Dean laughed a little.

"Bein' alone's worse," he said. "Just - can we have this year together, before you go?"

Sam leaned back against the passenger side window.

"You sound pretty damned confident that I'll be going."

Dean smiled a little, looking out at the road ahead.

"'Course you are, Sam," he said. "You're fuckin' brilliant. Any college would be lucky to have you. Not a doubt in my mind."

Sam just stared at him.

"Huh."

"What?"

"Did it, like, hurt? Giving me a compliment?"

"Shut up."

Sam sighed, and then nodded.

"Okay," he said. "I won't bring it up again. We'll have a good year. Without hunting."

"Mostly."

"Mostly without hunting."

"If Dad calls -"

"Dean. I know."

Dean nodded.

"Then bikinis, drinking jello shots off hot chicks, here we come."


	32. January 15th - Las Vegas, That Night - Now

The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Well, it was thick to Dean at least. Cas and Sam were just shootin' the shit standing right next to his bed while he willed his erection down before he embarrassed himself.

Any more.

"Look, Sam, can it wait?" Dean crabbed.

Sam completely derailed mid-sentence and stared at him.

"Can _murder_ wait?" he asked.

"It's eleven pm and I ain't drivin' to Las Cruces on zero sleep," said Dean. "They'll be just as dead in the morning. Right?"

"Wow, Dean. I can't believe you -"

"Go spend some time with Stacy. We'll deal in the morning. Okay?"

Sam shook his head.

"I guess?" he said. "Not like we can talk to witnesses at this hour - "

"So what're you hanging around here for? Go spend your last few hours in Vegas with Stacy."

"Fine."

"I can walk you to the door, Sam."

"Thanks, Cas."

"I can also," said Cas, in a strangely measured tone, "wait until the stars burn out if you don't make up your mind."

Castiel glanced at Dean.

"What?"

"Don't worry, Sam," said Cas. "Just a discussion Dean and I were having. Let's go."

Castiel and his brother vanished down the hallway.

Dean groaned and fell back against the pillows, wondering just how much time he had before there was some kind of reckoning.

Maybe he could feign sleep.

\- _but Cas, oh God he looked so damned good, fuckin' soaked with whatever that oil was, all fucking over his skin, Dean wanted to touch and taste and rub it into his -_

"Dean."

His train of thought jumped the track and crashed into the station.

"Uh. Yeah?"

He turned to look at Castiel, standing there alone with that rumpled trenchcoat. It was hard to believe he'd been something out of sex dreams that Dean hadn't even imagined less than a half an hour ago.

They stared at each other in silence.

Castiel took a deep breath and let it out.

"Good night," he said, and turned on his heel, heading through the door to his room.

***

Dean sat there bewildered for a moment.

Should he go in there?

But he didn't know _for sure_ that Cas heard him, that Cas wanted him -

well, given how much he said _Dean_ during, apparently that was a given, but -

there was just _a lot_ -

if he walked through that door.

An admission.

Submission.

Acknowledgement of not only the wide ocean he'd been slowly drowning in since he'd met Castiel, but also all those tawdry nights at truck stops and rest areas all over the country, of the fact that his conquests included women, men, and nonbinary people.

The road was a colorful place in many ways and Dean was not a man of limitation.

Except in one very important way:

he talked a lot, but actually _said_ very little. He did not share his feelings and liked to pretend he had none.

In reality, he had far too many.

A wild thought occurred to him.

With Cas -

he didn't _need_ to speak.

Cas would just _know._

He could hear him, his thoughts, the deepest part of his mind.

So he didn't _have_ to speak.

Right?

Maybe the hardest part was just crossing that threshhold.

And Dean Winchester, slayer of monsters and man who fought with the divine, discovered there was no braver step in his life than the one he took over the threshhold of Castiel's doorway.

***

Castiel was waiting for him.

He manhandled him down onto the bed. He was so warm and strong, a solid line against Dean's back - 

_safe_

and those wings had come down around the two of them as Castiel rocked into him patiently, firmly settling Dean's hips flush with his own and not letting Dean wriggle away.

" _This is what you dreamed of, when you dreamed of me,_ " Castiel's voice sighed into his ear as he pulled Dean to him and held him in place.

Dean was utterly surrounded by Castiel, covered, loved.

_Loved._

The enormity of it weighed on him, but like a warm and heavy blanket, like warm and heavy wings.

The oil was thick and sweet like honey. Castiel rubbed it into his skin. He drew his fingers through the feathers, swiping up the blue, and hooked his long fingers into Dean's mouth, gently pressing against the muscle in his jaw, holding it open as he fed the blue substance into him, between his teeth, Dean lighting up with it, drunk on it, whatever it was, he felt almost drugged with it -

" _Taste it, Dean, I want you to know this, to know me, to have me imprinted on your soul,_ " Castiel murmured as he thrust into Dean. " _I want to be inside you. In every way._ "

and Dean came sudden, on a sob, all over the coverlet beneath him, as Castiel growled a single word in his ear:

_Mine_

and he clutched at Dean as the angel's orgasm shook the very core of him, until they lay sated on the bed.

"Dean."

"Mmm."

"Dean? Wake up."

That was Sam's voice.

_Oh no -_

Dean started awake -

in his own bed.

He stared up at his little brother.

He stared at the door between the rooms.

He looked at Sam again.

"Did I," he said, "fall asleep?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "You kinda crashed out while me and Cas were talking at the door. Guess you were right about needing sleep."

"So I - " 

_Had a fucking wet dream like a teenager, apparently!_

_But it seemed so real._

Castiel walked out of his room just then and did not even look in Dean's direction.

"I'm ready to interview the witnesses, Sam."

"Great. Let me go get some coffee and doughnuts and we can be on our way."

Sam left the room and therefore left Dean alone with Castiel and his feelings all over the place and no way to stuff them back into the filing system after a dream like that one.

"Cas. Uh, Cas."

Dean tried to get up with his blanket wrapped around himself to chase after the angel but was tripped up by his comforter.

"Damn it!"

Castiel turned in the doorway.

"Is there something you wanted to say to me, Dean?"

Castiel stared at him, placid and dangerous.

"Did we - did I - "

Castiel just kept staring.

"Did I say anything to you last night?" Dean finally managed.

"You were dead to the world when I came back into the room," said Castiel. "I imagine something must be tiring you out. Have you felt distracted lately?"

And then, very slowly, that eyebrow went up again.

_Sonofabitch. You little shit._

But Castiel didn't seem like he'd heard that last part.

"I'll see you down at the car," said Castiel, light as air, and then swanned out.

Dean sat there, unable to move, because he'd _really meant to do it_ that time. He'd really meant to go into Cas's room and -

Sighing, he got up and went to clean up in the shower before heading downstairs to meet up with his brother and the angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I can wait til the stars burn out_ gratuitously stolen from _The Prophecy_.


	33. January 15th-17th - On the Road: Florida - Then

The drive was strangely uneventful.

They traded off driving, but stopped at every stupid roadside attraction along the way. Dean took pictures with his phone. They overnighted at motels instead of driving nonstop.

Dean left the pills in his duffel, in the trunk.

He actually started to feel better, and his spirits lifted as they hit Jacksonville.

Maybe everything was going to be all right.

***

"Okay, where to?" asked Dean. "Tampa? The Keys? Disneyland?"

He grinned.

"Daytona?"

"Actually, maybe not Disneyland, but Universal Studios?" asked Sam.

"Really?"

"C'mon, man," said Sam. "Jaws ride?"

"Sold," said Dean. "And then Daytona?"

"And then Daytona."


	34. January 16th - Las Cruces - Now

Dean wasn't all that surprised that interviewing the witnesses brought up less than nothing.

"Nobody cares," he commented, as they walked down the stairs from the last house. "Drifters. Hobos. Nobodies. Unremarked, unmissed."

Sam gave Dean a look as they got into the car.

"You worried nobody's gonna miss us?" he asked.

_Not you, Sam. You're somebody._

_You matter._

"Can we, uh," Dean said, "stop by Tuba City?"

"You want to visit Sola?"

"Yeah. I just - it's been a long time, and the post office stopped accepting my mail, so."

"Anything you want, Dean."

Castiel, sitting in the back, just watched them both in silence.

***

Several uneventful hours passed. Sam fell asleep. Castiel alternately watched the scenery or watched Dean with that cool unrelenting stare.

Dean did not think about anything or say anything. He just kept driving.

They got into Tuba City several hours later. 

Dean pulled up in front of the familiar rose-pink house.

The paving stones to the door were cracked. Weeds grew up through them.

The place had an air of unsettled quiet.

Dean knocked on the door.

A young woman answered.

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked.

"I, uh," he said. "Does Sola live here?"

The woman's face grew sad.

"Grandma Sola passed on a few years back," she said. "If you're looking for a place, I'm sorry, we don't take drifters or hobos in, it's just gotten too dangerous."

_Why? Why are we dangerous?_

Dean did not ask this question that beat at the inside of his ribcage.

He glanced at the place where the hobo sign had been, mostly effaced.

"You could keep the place a little nicer," he grumbled. "She wouldn't like the weeds growing up like that -"

Sam hurriedly got in between Dean and the woman.

"I'm sorry, my brother is kind of sentimental," he said. "We stayed here with Sola a long time ago. We just wanted to stop by and -"

"Wait, you're brothers?" the young woman asked. "Are you Sam and Dean?"

Sam gave her a surprised look.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we are."

"She left you something. I never knew where to send it, or if you'd ever stop by. Wait here."

She disappeared from the doorway.

Dean gave the yard an angry look.

"Dean," said Sam in a light but warning tone. Dean waved him off.

"Here," said the woman, handing him a box and a note.

Dean eagerly opened the note.

_Sam and Dean - my darlings._

Dean smiled a little. He could feel himself tearing up.

_My letters have been returned, so I suppose that means you stopped paying for the box. Don't worry, I understand._

_To Sam - all the luck in the world, my handsome. You will always be so dearly loved. Be the man you wish to be. They will not forsake you._

_To Dean - mi nieto. I am so happy you made a friend. Keep them close to your heart. I wanted you to have these, Dean._

_Never forget me, my darlings. And never forget to let somebody in._

_Yours_

_Sola_

"Uh, th - thank you," Dean managed.

He opened the box.

Inside was the little leather satchel.

He opened it and shook out the two agates onto his palm, polished to a shine.

_Green and blue. Brown and white._

_Sea and sky. Earth and heaven._

_Natural unions._

"Thanks for stopping by," said the woman at the door.

"You have a good day now," said Sam.

They walked back to the Impala.

"You alright?" asked Sam. 

"Hah. Never better," said Dean, but there was no bluster in his repertoire that could really cover his feelings.

They got into the car, where Castiel was still waiting in the backseat.

Dean went to pull his seatbelt across, and then thought better of it.

"Here," said Dean gruffly, handing him the little satchel.

"For me?" asked Castiel.

"Yeah. Sure," said Dean, now buckling up.

He gave the house a little half-wave, even though the woman was gone, and drove down the street.

In the rearview, he saw Castiel's stunned expression as he looked into the bag.

When their eyes met, there was something in the angel's that looked like paradise.

***

They didn't speak for the rest of the drive.

Somehow, no words seemed fitting.

When Dean pulled into a motel outside Las Cruces, he was exhausted and ready to hit the hay.

"We'd like to check in, please," he said.

The bored girl at the counter had dyed-black hair and black lipstick and way too much eyeliner.

"Sure," she said. "All we got's two doubles, that okay?"

"What? But I - you know what, never mind, that's fine. I can't drive another mile."

"Breakfast's included and it's pretty damn good," said the girl. "It's not so bad."

"Guess not."

Dean parked the car and unceremoniously informed them of the situation.

The room itself was nice and tasteful.

Apart from the mirror on the ceiling, of course, but you can't have everything.

"You and Cas can share," said Sam.

Dean gave his brother an alarmed look.

"Dean, I'm way too big to share a bed with you _or_ Cas," said Sam, ever practical.

"Are you saying we're short?"

"It's tragic, I know."

Dean would not look at Cas.

Could not look at Cas.

How he was supposed to navigate a situation in which there was only one bed, he did not know.


	35. January 18th - Orlando - Then

"Holy shit! Did you see that?!"

"Yeah, a bird landed _right in front of me_ and flew into my face!"

Dean and Sam had just left the Hitchcock Experience, the first time Dean had seen (believable) 3D. 

"Hey let's go there," Sam said, pointing at the newest part of the park, _Islands of Adventure._

They went over the bridge and were absolutely bathed in music, something vaguely Arabic-sounding.

And Dean just fell in love.

"Remember when we were kids, and I watched _Aladdin_ like a million times?" asked Dean. "Whenever we could get ahold of it?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "You used to collect little stones and say it was your treasure."

"Yeah," agreed Dean, somehow not really embarrassed by that at all.

Around him, there was a kind of bazaar filled with silks and satins, coin belts and scimitars. 

It was like he was a child again.

Like the child he had never been.

"There's a show in a half hour, you want to go?" asked Sam, pointing at a sign.

"Sure," said Dean. He was wide-eyed and trying to look everywhere at once. "I mean, I know this is all fake, but..."

He just trailed off, leaving Sam to pick up the thread.

"You know," Sam said. "We could - maybe go further."

"Further?" Dean asked, giving him a puzzled look. "Further where?"

Sam shrugged.

"Outside the States?" he suggested. "Further than Mexico or Canada? Morocco, Turkey. Something."

Dean's mind just ground to a halt.

He stood there, in the pretend Arabic bazaar, and wondered why the thought had quite literally never occurred to him.

"Are you okay?" asked Sam, on a light little laugh.

"I hate flying?" Dean said, as if he were working through something.

"So take a cruise. I don't know, it was just a thought."

Dean just stared at his little brother as if he'd handed him the keys to the universe.

"I could - we could - go to Morocco?" said Dean, as if Morocco was some kind of far-off fantasyland and not a real place that someone might go. 

"Well, yeah."

"Or - or - _Tahiti_ ," said Dean in an awed voice.

"Yes, Dean, or literally anywhere," said Sam. "How has this never occurred to you before?"

_Take care of Sammy._

_People are depending on you, Dean._

_People will die if you don't do your job, and that's on you._

Dean didn't have to wonder at the sound of John Winchester's voice in his head.

"I have responsibilities," said Dean faintly.

He went to sit down.

Sam pursued him.

"But the thing is, it's _not all you_ ," said Sam. "Jeez, Dean, you can't carry the whole world on your shoulders. Be selfish. For once."

The word _selfish_ hit wrong. Dean had always been worried that he was selfish.

John told him so enough.

"Bein' selfish ain't a good thing, Sammy," said Dean.

"It's _Sam,_ " said Sam. He sat down next to his brother. "Okay, not the right word. _Be true to yourself._ I mean, that was the point of _Aladdin_ all along, right? You wanted to go on adventures! See the world. Be Indiana Jones, I don't know."

Sam sighed, and then grinned as a small fleet of bellydancers passed in front of them.

"All I'm saying is that you don't need to live out your life as Dad dictates," said Sam. "For me, that's college. For you - who knows? Work on a ship if you hate flying. There's always a way."

"And who would take care of the Impala?" he asked.

_And who would take care of you?_ he did not say.

Somehow, Sam heard him regardless.

"I'll be fine," he said. "I didn't ask you to take care of me or raise me, but you did. And thank you for that. But Dean - I'm all grown up now. You have to live your own life too."

Dean sat there stunned for a while, as the possibilities opened up before him.

"I could go to Turkey," he said slowly. 

"Or Tahiti," said Sam.

"Venice," said Dean. "Madagascar."

These were places that Dean felt were increasingly unlikely to actually be real.

"Anywhere."

Dean was speechless.

Sam looked up at a nearby clock.

"C'mon," he said. "Show's starting."

And he dragged his brother into the auditorium.

The show was incredible, acrobatic, with sword-swallowers and fire breathers, some of the most brilliant magic of the stage either of them had ever seen.

But Dean just sat there stupefied by the idea that there was a whole world out there and he could, if he wanted to -

His mind was completely swamped with the potential.

***

They made their way to Daytona Beach after that, because it wasn't too far from Orlando and besides, Sam had promised.

Dean ponied up for a classy motel on the beach, which cost a lot of their money but he figured that there would be ample opportunity for him to make more.

He spent a lot more time down on his knees there than in many other places across the country, but Sam was happy, and that was all that mattered in the end.

Dean walked out toward the beach again, Sam had been participating in some kind of MTV thing they were doing on the beach, people were carrying him on their shoulders and he was smiling like Dean had never seen him smile.

As Dean moved from the shadow into the light of the afternoon, he watched Sam's smile fade.

_Aw, no, Sammy, please be happy -_

Then he realized that Sam was looking at something behind Dean.

"Dean Winchester."

Ice crept down his spine, joined together with terror.

He turned around.

"Hi, Dad."


	36. January 17th - Las Cruces, Just Past Midnight - Now

Dean woke.

Everything was dark, and warm. He felt comfortable and -

_safe_

Dimly, he began to be aware that Castiel was 

1\. mostly naked

2\. wrapped around him like an octopus

and

3\. hard

Catologuing these things nearly short-circuited his brain.

_God he feels good. This is nice._

_He's asleep, though, probably has no idea -_

" _Dean_ ," Cas whispered suddenly, lips by his ear, his damp warm breath on his skin.

Dean startled badly. Castiel just clamped down around him.

" _Can you be very, very quiet? Don't move. Don't make a sound. Nod if you understand._ "

Dean nodded slightly. What was it? Were they under attack? Were they -

_ohshitohshitohshit Cas is touching my dick!_

Dean's mouth fell open and he remembered at the last second to keep it to himself as Castiel grazed his knuckles over the fabric stretched across Dean's rapidly-hardening cock.

" _Good boy,_ " Cas barely breathed into his ear. " _So good for me._ "

Dean couldn't believe this was happening. He hoped it wasn't another wet dream, because it was embarrassing enough when he was in bed alone, but in bed _with Cas -_

" _Shh. You're not dreaming, this time._ "

Dean was very, very aware of all the places his body was touching Castiel's. He remembered how gorgeous the angel looked while kneeling on the bed and was sad that he couldn't see him, see his wings.

But Sam was right there, in the next bed over, behind them. 

Castiel's hand dipped into his boxers and closed around his cock.

" _Mmmmph!_ " Dean tried to keep it down.

" _Quiet,_ " said Castiel softly. " _I know how loud you wish to be, but not here. You're so responsive, Dean. So sensitive._ "

He said all this in an awed tone of voice, as if everything about Dean was a marvel to him.

Dean didn't move, and he kept everything inside as Castiel's quick and clever hand took him apart.

Really, Dean was helpless anyway, he could feel his orgasm approaching in the relentless wash of Castiel on him and around him.

He tensed, and Castiel cupped his hand in front of Dean's cock as he began to come, catching it on his skin.

" _There,_ " sighed Castiel, and something about the way he said it made Dean arch his back a little.

Dean relaxed, his brain completely off-center, his entire being unsteady.

Castiel withdrew his hand.

There were no further words exchanged, and Dean's fluttering pulse calmed eventually.

When he got the courage to roll over and look at Castiel, and Sam beyond him in the other bed, he found that both of them were fast asleep.

***

In the morning, Castiel was gone.

"Uh, so," Dean tried for casual and missed by a mile. "Seen Cas this morning?"

"No, I thought he was with you?" Sam returned, handing him coffee and a buttered cinammon roll.

"Oh," said Dean. "No, I haven't seen him since last night."

"Something going on between you two?" asked Sam.

_Haha!_ shouted some crazed thing in Dean's mind. _Now why would you ask something like that, Sam?_

"Did you have a fight?"

_Oh. Like that - not like **that**._

"No, no fight," Dean hurried to say. "Just wish he wouldn't up and vanish on us like that."

"Well, Cas is Cas," said Sam.

"I know," said Dean, and he walked out the door to the Impala with his feelings.

"Dean."

"Holy shit, Cas!" Dean shouted after jumping a mile and almost dumping his coffee all over the Impala's hood. "Warn a guy!"

"My apologies."

Castiel stood there looking like Castiel always looked. 

Dean was surprised. He thought he'd seem different in the light of day, after what had happened.

Although there was a new expression on his face now.

If Dean didn't know any better, he might have called it -

shy?

Suddenly, Castiel stuck out his hand.

There was a small green rock in the center of his palm.

"For you," he said, as if it wasn't clear.

Dean peered at the rock. It was opaque, and a pretty shade of green.

"I went to China to find a jade piece the exact color of your eyes," Castiel explained earnestly.

Dean scooped it up from Cas's hand.

"Huh," he said. "My eyes are this color?"

Castiel nodded enthusiastically.

Then he just watched Dean.

"Uh, thanks, buddy," he said.

He pocketed the stone.

Castiel looked like someone had lit him on fire.

"Oh, there you are, Cas!" said Sam, emerging from the motel room and closing the door behind him. "Good. Are we ready to go?"

"Yes, Sam," Castiel said, and got into the backseat of the Impala, leaving Dean's questions unasked and unanswered.

Sam got into the passenger side.

Everybody was ignoring Dean's blown mind, but he supposed that was par for the course this late in the game.

"Sure," said Dean. "I'm ready."

He got in the Impala and started her up.

***

Out on the road, he turned to Sam for a moment.

"You know, maybe we're going about this the wrong way," he said.

"How do you mean?"

Dean caught Castiel's gaze in the mirror.

Cas was giving him the sappiest look he'd ever seen outside a romance movie.

Not that Dean watched romance movies or anything.

His gaze dropped to Cas's lips.

_God, I wanna kiss him._

"Uh," stammered Dean. "That is, I mean. I know there's a hobo camp somewhere around here. Maybe we should be asking them."

"Hobos aren't drifters," said Sam.

"They're drifter-adjacent," said Dean. "Anyway, they're gonna have a better finger on that pulse than any of these other people who don't know anything about the life."

"Guess you could be right," said Sam slowly. "Okay. After we talk to the police, we'll head out to the encampment."

"Okay," said Dean.

He chanced another look at Cas in the mirror.

But this time, Cas was looking out at the scenery.

Sighing, Dean turned his attention to the road ahead.


	37. January 19th - Daytona Beach - Then

Sam reluctantly joined Dean just outside the bar.

John smiled at them gently.

"Blowin' off a little steam, boys?" he asked.

Dean was so prepared for just about anything else to come out of John's mouth that he couldn't think of anything to say at all.

"Yeah, Dad," said Sam, smooth as butter.

Dean gaped at him.

"What brings you to town?"

"Hunt in Cocoa Beach," said John mildly, looking out at the ocean.

"Oh," said Dean, still waiting for something. Anything.

"Nice place," he said. "You boys have fun now."

He messed up Dean's hair and then looked him in the eye suddenly.

"Long as you're blowin' off the right kinda steam," he said lightly.

Dean froze.

Thought of what he'd just been doing in a dirty bar bathroom stall.

_but it's for Sam_

Excuses, excuses. Didn't explain how he got off on it exactly the same way he got off on the faceless, nameless women he'd banged all across the States -

or the fact he got off on it _more_ \- 

maybe the confusion, maybe the forbidden aspect, he didn't know.

But he nodded, feeling sick to his stomach.

Thinking of what was currently in his stomach.

"Yes, sir," said Dean in a cold voice.

Dean always swallowed. They paid more for that. Sometimes they liked to come on his face and paid more for that too.

But _They pay more for it_ was just another pathetic excuse.

Dean loved it and he didn't know why. 

He just kept wondering _does he know? can he see it on me or something?_

But John just smiled and walked away, back to his rental car, started it up and drove off with a wave.

"That was really weird," said Sam, completely out of the loop and Dean was definitely not going to bring him into it.

"Yeah," said Dean faintly.

"How'd he know we were here?"

"Car's pretty obvious."

"Yeah - but - "

Dean drew his phone out of his pocket.

"GPS," he said in a flat voice. "He turned on the GPS remotely, Sammy."

Sam blanched a little.

"You want to get rid of the phone?"

"Is that safe?"

"Damn it, Dean, something's gotta change," said Sam.

"I'm going back to the hotel."

"I'll go with you."

***

"At least he was nice."

"Nice?" asked Sam. "We shouldn't always be waiting for the other shoe to drop, Dean, that's kind of the whole point of abuse."

"He didn't _do_ anything."

_That you know of, anyway._

"But we shouldn't be expecting him to," said Sam. "Aside from that, we're homeless, you've failed high school, and that's just the beginning."

"You think that's gonna matter?" asked Dean. "I'm a hunter, Sam. I ain't got a life ahead of me like you do."

"You could."

"Right. Morocco. Turkey."

"Whatever you want. Look, how about this? You get your GED and I get us out of the country afterward."

"What about university?"

"Just for a little while."

"You tellin' me that if I graduate you're gonna take me on a trip? Thanks Dad!" Dean smiled.

"Yeah, I am. Deal?"

Dean grinned a little, despite himself.

He shook on it.

"Deal."

***

They decided to stay in the room for the evening.

Sam started watching _Pretty Woman_ despite Dean's bitching, and eventually Dean got absorbed in the film.

But at the end, he ran to the bathroom and started retching into the toilet. He couldn't stop throwing up, his body shaking with uncontrollable sobs.

"Dean! Dean, what's wrong?!" Sam called out, alarmed.

_Who even cares about you enough to save you, Dean?_

"Nothin'. Think I caught a bug," said Dean, as the tears just would not stop and eventually he stopped trying, as his body tried to evacuate his internal organs and he selfishly wept for himself and an impossible future.

_That ain't never gonna be me._

***

Later, he crawled into his bed, back to Sam.

He could _hear_ the kid thinking. Wheels turning, whirring inside his head.

"Dean - " Sam's voice was soft and heartbroken.

"Sleepin', Sammy," said Dean. "Talk in the morning, 'k?"

Behind him, there was a soft sigh.

"K," said Sam, a little defeated, and he rolled over to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The odd thing about abusers and abuse is that sometimes, they don't do anything at all. And then you're left in a sense of the world being off a little bit, confused, wondering when it's going to happen next or if you're crazy and it was never there at all.
> 
> The other thing is that abusers sometimes choose to abuse one child and not the other, and occasionally in ways that only the abused child will understand, leaving them feeling even more alone.
> 
> The one saving grace in this situation is that Sam is aware of, and calls out, the abuse. There are many instances where the other child ignores the abuse, or worse, joins forces with the abuser.


	38. January 17th - Hobo Encampment, Las Cruces - Now

The trainyard just beyond the town was home to a hobo encampment.

Dean and Sam walked over to them, not wearing fed suits but their normal clothing.

"Hey," called Dean. "You guys want to talk?"

A couple of women and a guy emerged from a lean-to. All three of them were tattooed almost head to toe.

"Sure, what's up?" asked one of the women.

She approached Dean.

"Didn't see a train come through," she said. 

"We're not train jumpers, we're drifters," Dean explained.

"Oh," she said. "What brings you to the camp?"

"Have you guys heard about the murders?" he asked.

"Drifters?" said the woman. "Yeah. Couple things here and there. Why? Have there been more?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "Five so far, one near here. We'd appreciate it if you'd be willing to answer some questions."

The woman raised an eyebrow at Sam.

"Hm, okay, college boy," she said. "We'll talk to him, but not to you."

Dean and Sam shared a look.

It had a lot of meaning in it.

One was that _see? **you're** the drifter_ from Sam, and then a strange kind of confidence from Dean, like he was at peace with it now and found it maybe not such a bad thing to be after all.

"I'll meet you at the car," said Sam.

He walked off, leaving Dean there.

Dean turned back to the hobos, feeling a little proud.

"You guys been here long?" he asked.

"Yeah. Coupla weeks. Just trying to get out at this point. But we figure, we're safe."

Dean grinned, because he completely understood how a couple of weeks were _a long time_ to both hobos and drifters, who lived their lives day-to-day piecemeal.

"How you figure?" asked Dean.

The woman shrugged.

"We're hoppers, not drifters," she said.

Dean stood back at that and re-evaluated.

"You think there's a difference?"

"Don't you?"

"Well yeah, sorta," he said.

"Then so does the killer."

***

Dean relayed the information he had gleaned back to Sam.

"Huh," said Sam, as they pulled into the motel. "So if the killer or the black-eyed children are targeting drifters, then - "

He gave Dean a meaningful look.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," said Dean. "Hop out, willya? I want to check the oil in Baby."

"Sure," said Sam.

Dean pulled the car in so the hood was facing the motor court. 

The Eagles were blasting from the speakers and he was feeling pretty good about life, all things considered. 

" _City girls just seem to find out early_

_How to open doors with just a smile,_ " Dean sang along, shaking his ass as he leaned over to pull the dipstick out.

Suddenly, there were strong hands holding him, pulling his ass flush against Castiel's hips.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel ground out.

Dean didn't move for a second. He was covered in grease from messing with the car.

"I'm all dirty," said Dean. 

"Good," growled Castiel.

Then he let go.

Dean turned around and tried to casually lean against the hood and cross his arms, neither of which he did gracefully and nearly pitched himself right over on his ass.

"I intend to ask Sam for permission today," Castiel announced out of absolutely nowhere.

"Per - Sam - what? Huh?" Dean said, congratulating himself on his excellent command of the English language.

"Permission to begin my courtship," Castiel explained further.

"Your - your - courtship?" squeaked Dean.

"Yes, of you," Castiel said patiently. "Of course, it will be some time before chicks, but I'm sure Sam wouldn't mind babysitting -"

" _Chicks?_ " Dean coughed.

"Yes, Dean," said Castiel. "I assumed you wanted children."

Dean's eyes were just about bugging out of his head.

"The - _children -_ but you're a dude!" he spluttered.

"I am an angel."

"But you can't get - _how -_ "

"I lay eggs."

There was not enough alcohol on earth for this conversation and the mechanics of -

"I - I - _what?_ " asked Dean.

Castiel now looked a little less confident.

"Then that dance was not for me?"

"What - I was just -"

"I - but you gave me stones?" Cas tried. "You accepted mine?"

"Stones? What? Cas, I gave you those because a nice lady gave them to me once and I thought you'd like them," said Dean.

Castiel looked mortified.

"Oh," he said. "Then - then my apologies for last night, Dean."

Dean _knew_ that look, that little shift like Cas was just about to flap his wings into another dimension.

"Wait!" he said. "Don't just flap off, damn it! What the _hell,_ Cas. So last night actually happened, did it?"

"Yes," said Castiel, fixing his gaze on the ground.

"And all the other - other - stuff?"

Castiel looked up at him slowly.

"What other stuff?" he asked.

But Dean saw that glint in his eyes and he _knew_ Cas was fucking with him.

"Don't be like that, man," said Dean.

"Like what?"

"Don't, uh," Dean said, and realized that if he launched into an explanation then he'd have to _admit things_ and he just sort of railroaded himself right into a tunnel that hadn't been built through that particular cliff quite yet.

"I really am very busy," said Castiel lightly. "Let me know when there's a breakthrough."

Then he vanished, leaving Dean in the most ridiculous mix of emotions he had ever experienced:

a combination of arousal, of longing for both a normal life ( _chicks? eggs?_ ) or, well, as normal as a relationship between a human and an angel could be, and a general wistful romantic hope that this weird thing with Cas might actually turn out to be something.

The Eagles were now singing about life in the fast lane and all Dean could do was put his head in his hands and wonder what it was he needed to do to figure all this out.

Then he looked up, and realized _when there's a breakthrough_ might not necessarily apply only to the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick rundown of terminology and why these distinctions matter:
> 
> _Truckers_ are not itinerant workers. They usually have a fixed abode somewhere; their job is driving, sometimes cross-country. Truckers are considered somewhat the upper class of the road because of these things.
> 
> _Drifters_ are itinerant workers via car-and-motel, like Sam and Dean. No drifter calls themselves a vagabond although once upon a time these terms were interchangeable.
> 
> _Hobos_ travel in various ways, often by freighthopping, are also itinerant workers. An old word for them was bindlestiff, because they tended to carry their possessions on a long stick tied up in a rag as they went searching for work from place to place. Hobos are workers by definition and although they may take long breaks they always return to working.
> 
> _Tramps_ travel, but work only when forced.
> 
> _Bums_ do not work or travel at all.
> 
> Hobos and drifters carry an uneasy peace with each other because they are the most similar of these groups. A hobo does not like to be associated with a tramp or bum because it is indicative of workshy laziness.
> 
> All of these groups still exist, but today, communication between us (when it does happen) exists primarily online. It's far rarer to see hobo signs nowadays, but they were still very common until the late 2000s before the Internet took over.
> 
> A note: freighthopping is the most physically dangerous of these. El tren de la muerte is a form of freighthopping in Central America in which migrants try to reach the US border via Mexican freight. There is a reason for that name. I advise caution in all of these lifestyles for various different reasons.
> 
> I have also recently learned that apparently some people have started a type of Instagram drifting. Someone suggested I do that.
> 
> I absolutely refuse. Nobody wants to see the real thing, kind of takes the romance out of it for the dreamer and the anonymity benefit out of it for the drifter.


	39. January 20th - Daytona Beach - Then

"Do you..."

Dean looked up at Sam over his Irish coffee, bleary-eyed.

"What."

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" asked Sam carefully. "Like. Let's go to Lousiana early. Head to the bayou before Mardi Gras, what do you think?"

Dean just stared at his brother.

"That what you want?"

"Daytona was for you, not me."

"Didn't even get to drive the car on the sand."

"I know. But hey, I mean, Lousiana's still nice this time of year, right?"

There was something unspoken in the air, for which Dean was grateful, as it hung in the silence between them.

 _Take the out,_ it said. _Get out of here and as far away from Dad as you can manage._

"Yeah, sure, okay," said Dean, rubbing his face. 

All the charm had bled out of the place anyway, leaving everything he looked at a kind of ashy gray.

"I'll go fill her up and grab us some bear claws, we'll get on the road by eleven."

"I'll check us out."

"Okay."

***

By the afternoon, they were headed back up the coast toward Georgia.

They didn't speak, because there was nothing else that needed saying.


	40. January 18th - Las Cruces, Second Day - Now

The following morning, Castiel was still missing in action, and Dean got the courage up to talk to Sam about his troubles.

They were sitting at a diner, eating a late breakfast. Dean's stack of pancakes had a smiley face bacon on it.

"You're a grown man, Dean," Sam reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, and then explained the entire conversation from the day before.

When he finished, he looked up from his plate to see Sam staring at him in disbelief.

"What?" asked Dean.

"Oh my _God,_ Dean," said Sam, in his best _you are such a fucking idiot_ voice.

"What?!" Dean demanded. "What'd I do?"

"Okay, I'm going to tell you," said Sam, visibly counting to ten in his head, "about birds."

"Birds? What the hell, Sam, this is about _Cas._ "

"Yes," Sam agreed. "Cas. _And birds._ "

"Okay, I'll bite."

"Some birds," said Sam, "offer their potential mate a stone. If the mate accepts, then -"

Dean gave Sam a puzzled look.

Then his eyes widened.

"But _I_ gave Cas a stone!" said Dean. "Two of them. And then he gave me a stone too - "

"Which you accepted," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, but I didn't - " said Dean. "Holy shit, does he think I _rejected_ -"

He suddenly realized the implications of this entire story and the side of his life he'd tried his entire life to hide from his brother.

"I don't - I mean - I'm not," Dean tried. 

He sighed, and looked down at the table, defeated.

"I'm not."

"Dean."

Dean looked up at his brother. 

Sam was smiling in that soft, big-eyed way that he had, like he was made of melted butter.

"Knock it off," Dean said automatically.

"Dean, I know," said Sam. "I've always known. Why do you think I was trying so hard to get you away from Dad?"

Dean stared at him.

"What the hell do you mean, you've always known?" he demanded, and then belatedly, "Known what? What?"

"Look," said Sam. "I get that - I get what you did, to try and shelter me. And the thing is, I did grow up sheltered, as much as anyone can be in this life. But it gave me a big head, kind of a boy-king attitude, and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair. I had to grow up a lot before I realized exactly what you'd done for me and also why you kept trying to hide what you were doing."

Dean's shoulders sank. He'd never wanted Sam to know.

"And I know that you did what you did partly to support us," said Sam, "but also - man, back then, it was different. Now, today - come on, Dean. It's okay if you like guys and girls."

Now he smirked a little.

"And angels."

"Hey," said Dean warningly, but he was unsure why. Habit, he guessed. 

"And I am so fucking tired of watching you two dance around each other," said Sam. "Use your words, Dean. Damn it. So much of this crap could have been avoided if we all _told the truth_ and just _talked to each other._ "

"What? I can't do that," said Dean. 

"Yes, you can," said Sam.

"You can't, just, like, _say_ that stuff," said Dean.

"Yes, you can."

And that cliff that always seemed impermeable in his mind, the drifter in him suddenly whispered:

_why don't you just drive around it?_

and he sat there, shell-shocked, and completely speechless.

"There it is," said Sam, and dug into his spinach omelette for some reason.


	41. January 20th-21st - Louisiana Bayou Country - Then

Sam and Dean traded off driving again, this time in an unspoken sort of urgency where they did not bother stopping at any motels or roadside attractions.

Halfway through Mississippi, Dean rolled down the window and chucked the phone into some kudzu at the side of the road.

"Good luck finding us now," Dean said, and kept driving.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" asked Sam.

"Don't know and don't care," said Dean. "Just want the old man off our backs for a while, okay?"

"Bayou country?"

"Bayou country."

***

They found themselves at the edge of the Louisiana bayou, where they left the car. 

"The Venice of America," Dean commented, and they got into a pirogue together.

"Do you know where you're going?" asked Sam.

"No," said Dean, as they poled away into the gloom of the swamp. "Do you care?"

"Not really."

"Then neither do I."


	42. January 19th - Las Cruces, Third Day - Now

"Okay, taste this."

Dean handed Sam a chocolate-chip-and-M&M pancake.

"Whoa, no, not with maple syrup, gross," Dean said. "Hershey's _only_ , were you born in a barn?"

"I don't think it matters which - "

"Trust me, it _matters._ "

Sam gave him a doubtful look but poured the chocolate syrup onto the pancake anyway and took a hesitant bite.

"Eh? Eh?" asked Dean, grinning. "Good, ain't it?"

"Just looking at it is giving me a heart attack in my soul."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does this."

"Better than egg white spinach omelettes, freakazoid."

"Wow, I haven't heard that since the nineties," Sam commented drily. "Anyway, what's all this about? Not that I don't appreciate motel kitchenette pancakes, because I do. But you never make these unless there's an occasion."

"I made these for Cas."

"Oh, I'm sorry - "

"Eat your food, Samuel."

***

"I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here."

Sam took this as his cue to snatch a pancake and run out the door.

"You get that on the seats there's gonna be hell to pay," Dean yelled after him.

Castiel showed up in a puff of wind seconds later.

"Yes, Dean?"

"Okay, look," said Dean.

He thrust a plate of pancakes underneath Castiel's nose.

"Dean, I don't eat."

"Well, just take 'em and sit down then," he said. "You - you gotta pour chocolate syrup on them."

"All right."

Castiel gave him a curious look.

He squeezed the bottle of syrup, watching as it came out of the bottle and drizzled onto the pancakes.

Cas gave it a curious look, leaned forward, and poked his tongue out into the stream of chocolate.

"Cas, no!" Dean yelled, startling Cas so bad he squirted some of the chocolate onto his face.

Cas stared up at him, guilty, bright blue eyes shining and the chocolate splashed on his cheek.

Dean stared back, and just started laughing.

"God, I love you," he said.

The entire universe seemed to stop.

_No! Don't let it derail you. Sack up!_

"Cas," said Dean, approaching him.

He cradled his face in his hand, wiping some of the chocolate off.

Then he bent down and kissed it off his face, licking the chocolate from his lips.

"Dean?" questioned Castiel, his gaze locked onto him.

Dean smiled down at him.

"Yeah, Cas," he said. "You and me. What do you say?"

"I've always loved you, Dean," said Castiel. "I've spent every day since, choosing you. It was not written in fate or destiny. It was the opposite."

He gazed at Dean.

"You are my free will."

_Shit. Shit!_

_What the hell do I say to that?_

"Do you really lay eggs?" blurted Dean.

Castiel blinked.

"Of course I do," he said, puzzled, like Dean had asked him something very weirdly obvious. 

He held Dean's gaze.

"I'm an angel," he enunciated slowly, as if this might help Dean to get it.

_Wow. Forget about gay panic. This is -_

"Jeez, Cas," said Dean. "It's one thing getting over liking guys, this is - it's another level."

"I thought you couldn't possibly love me," said Castiel. "Not the way I love you."

"Because you're a guy?"

Castiel shook his head.

"Because I'm a monster. And you hunt monsters. You hate them."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, an angel isn't a monster -

but then, thinking about it, technically -

it was true.

"Huh," said Dean intelligently. 

Then he said:

"But I do. Love you. That is. Eat your pancakes."

He turned around and busied himself at the stove for a moment.

"You said," Dean began. "Um. That thing, about chicks?"

"Yes?"

"Would you," he said, and couldn't seem to finish, but looked back over his shoulder.

Castiel was staring at him fondly.

"Should you wish for some fledglings, Dean," he said, "I wouldn't be averse."

Dean imagined some cute little kids with little wings climbing onto his lap for a bedtime story.

He had to stop thinking like that because he was getting all misty-eyed.

"Dean," Castiel was suddenly directly behind him, growling into his ear. 

"Talkin' about havin' fledglings doin' it for you or something?" teased Dean.

Castiel's arm came around him like a vise, his lips grazing Dean's ear.

"You know what matters most to an angel, Dean?" he murmured.

Dean thought about it.

"Consent?" he guessed.

One beat passed, then two.

"Oh," Dean breathed. "Then yes. Yes, I want it too."

Castiel spun him around with the same ease he did while fighting, and pressed Dean against the counter as he captured his lips in a searing, passionate kiss.

"Huh," said Dean, looking from Cas's lips to his bright, fiery blue eyes and back again.

Then:

"Fuck, yes, Cas _tiel_ ,"

and it was all over for him.

***

The angel had him pressed up against the wall, just beyond that initial point of pain.

"Whatever you want, any way you want this," Castiel said, "I will do. I love you so much, Dean."

And for the first time, Dean didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed for liking to be roughed up, for enjoying the pain.

He trusted Castiel.

Castiel would not let him fall.

***

Cas tore at his clothing as if it had personally offended him, until his hands touched Dean's bare skin. He hissed like an animal, filled with a sort of triumphant rage that terrified Dean and turned him on like nothing else.

"I can take you here up against the wall or you can get on the bed, hands and knees," snarled Castiel. "Choose quickly, or I choose for you."

As much as Dean liked being pressed up against the wall, he was getting a little long in the tooth and his body would probably thank him later for at least getting railed on something soft. 

He was well-aware that he wasn't going to be walking normal for a week, if Castiel's strange noises were any indication.

"The bed," said Dean weakly, and Castiel easily wrestled him into position there.

Cas sounded barely human now and this otherworldliness was really doing it for Dean for whatever reason. He had always liked forbidden things, and being with Cas was so far beyond all of that, his cock was so hard it was dripping in anticipation.

"This first time will not be gentle or kind," Castiel warned him. "There will be time for that later. But you have made me wait _for years_ , your thoughts are so loud."

"I've wanted you to fuck me for years," Dean finally admitted. "But even more, since I first saw you jacking off, calling my name. And then the _wings -_ "

"You like my wings?" asked Castiel.

"Fuck. So much, angel," said Dean.

Castiel shuddered and sighed.

Dean looked over his shoulder, because Castiel was holding him in place, not letting him turn around or even move.

Moments later, Castiel was naked, and two glossy, black wings arched over and above his head.

"You're beautiful," said Dean quietly.

Castiel's eyes opened, and they were glowing blue.

_Shit. I am in over my head -_

and that was the only thought he had time for before Castiel suddenly thrust inside him in one long, hard motion, no prep or anything, on a long, victorious groan.

Dean felt a strange, cold sensation and realized that Cas had healed him, and was now fucking into him with animal intensity. No words were exchanged at all, it was as if Castiel was all animal, jackrabbiting into him to prove that Dean belonged to him now, all other comers apply elsewhere.

_God, this is so fucking hot!_

Dean wept as he came hard and sudden and pathetic, all over the blanket beneath them.

Castiel laughed -

he _laughed,_ the fucker -

and kept making those strange, dominant animal sounds, growling and snarling as he fucked Dean within an inch of his life.

Slowly, Dean became aware that he was still weeping, tears falling from his eyes onto the bed, and that he was hard again.

Cas had never slowed down, he was just fucking into him with an abandon Dean had only ever witnessed on nature shows.

And there was something so perfect and dirty about it, violent and pure, Dean's cock gave a painful twitch.

" _Oh,_ " Dean breathed. " _Oh my God no not again -_ "

and fucking _came,_ again, across the bed in exactly the same place, because Cas hadn't let him move.

" _Good,_ " Castiel said, but it came out among the possessive growls in his voice. " _Mate._ "

 _Mate,_ thought Dean. A delicate shiver ran up his spine.

A gasp from Castiel warned Dean that the end was imminent.

"Close your eyes!" warned Castiel.

Dean slapped a hand over his eyes at the last possible second.

A sound like a bomb had gone off, a sound Dean felt rather than heard, vibrated through his bones as he felt Castiel's cock pulse and pulse inside him.

Collapsing on top of Dean with a groan, they both fell into the wet spot together.

After a moment of panting, Dean tried to wriggle out of the way.

The strength of Castiel's hand stopped him as if he were encased in iron.

" _No, little mate,_ " he whispered. " _You will stay right here until I have drunk my fill of you._ "

So saying, Castiel thrust into Dean again, somehow still hard, and put his palm across Dean's old handprint scar.

" _Mine,_ " snarled Castiel. 

Dean felt electrified, and cursed and wept and came again.

He let Castiel use him until he eventually passed out from exhaustion.

***

Afterwards, Dean woke to Castiel petting his hair over and over again, especially the short hairs at the back of his neck.

"Whatcha doin'," asked Dean in a sleepy voice.

Castiel reluctantly took his hand away.

"Uh. Grooming you?" he said, guilty.

Dean smiled.

"Feels nice," he said.

Castiel's hand returned to its initial occupation.

"You're wonderful, Dean," he murmured. "I love you. So much."

"Shut up," mumbled Dean, hiding his face in his elbow. "You don't think it's weird? I like - uh -that?"

"No?" said Castiel. "I don't think we would be compatible if you didn't. I'm not human, Dean. My appetites are - different."

"Oh," said Dean.

"But sometimes," Castiel continued, "I will want to worship you, lay kisses on every inch of your skin, tell you how good you are. Because you are. Good."

Now Dean could feel himself blushing.

"'M not," he protested.

"You're a good man," Castiel insisted. "I know this, your brother, your friends - the only one who does not seem to know it is you. I plan to teach you the truth of this, if you will let me, for the rest of your life."

Dean just stared. He had no idea what to say to that.

"The gifts you have given me are the only gifts anyone has ever given to me, in all my life."

Castiel caressed him as they lay together in the messy bed.

Dean propped himself up on one elbow, appreciating the way that the late afternoon sun illuminated Castiel's sleepy features.

"What, really?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "These stones, and the mixtape you made me. I hold them as my most precious possessions."

Dean stared down at him, almost in disbelief at how handsome Castiel looked, and how there was some otherworldly being in there that Dean loved.

_Loved._

"I'm gonna go get a pop before Sam gets back," said Dean. "And we should probably air the place out a little before he has a bitchfit."

"Sam is a good man," said Castiel. "A good brother."

"Hell yeah he is," said Dean, dropping a light kiss to the top of Castiel's head. "Be back in five. And try not to fall asleep, we gotta put this place back together, okay?"

"Okay."

Dean pulled his jeans back on and his black t-shirt. He went outside into the dry desert air, where a chill came with the wind because the sun was setting.

He grinned, whistling, and saluted a passing scorpion. 

He was in one hell of a good mood.

"Damn, they are really overcharging for pop these days, huh?" he said to himself as he fed a dollar into the machine.

Maybe it was the post-coital haze, maybe it was the happiness, but Dean didn't notice anything at all before he was thrown forward against the machine and subsequently blacked out.


	43. January 21st - Atchafalaya Basin - Then

" _Mais,_ what do we have here? Whatchu doin' in the swamp?"

Dean whipped around to see a tall Black man standing in his own pirogue, in the dim last-light of the day.

"Uh," said Dean, not certain how to explain their presence, or where they were going.

The man poled a little closer.

"You ain't Cajun," he said. "Ain't Creole neither. You boys do know they's alligators in the swamp, right? Blue runners, water moccasins?"

Up close, Dean saw the man was middle-aged, clean-limbed and very handsome.

"We're drifters," said Dean.

The man leaned against his pole.

"Ain't no motels out here, _cha_ ," he said.

"We know," said Sam.

The man peered around Dean at him.

"That's a child!" he said. "What are you two doin' out here?"

"I'm Dean, that's my brother, Sam," Dean explained.

"And we're trying to get away from our dad," Sam finished.

" _Sam_!"

"Well, it's true."

The man got a faraway look in his eye.

"I see," he said. "My name's Narcisse. I take it you boys don't speak Cajun French."

"No sir."

"Well, nobody's perfect. You come with me then."

He began to pole off across the swamp. He turned around and called over his shoulder:

"You comin', or gon' be food for the gators then?"

Dean and Sam shared a look.

"What do you think?"

"I think we're on the bayou and it's nighttime and there's gators."

"Yeah."

"So we go with him?"

"We go with him."

Dean poled the pirogue after Narcisse into the gloom of the swamp.

***

To their surprise, a few corners were turned, and suddenly light and laughter spilled out across the water.

Narcisse pulled his pirogue up to the dock of what looked like a hastily-put-together bar and restaurant.

"This is the closest thing we got to a motel out in these parts," said Narcisse.

The place looked like a crazily-stacked houseboat, and they climbed up the staircase to the main floor, which was filled with people laughing and dancing together. 

"Will you look at what I dragged in outta the swamp?" asked Narcisse.

A white man, equally handsome to but much brawnier than Narcisse, walked out from behind the bar and threw a towel over his shoulder.

And to Dean's shock and consternation, kissed him hello.

"At least they got you off the swamp early tonight, _cha_ ," said the man. 

He turned to Dean, who was just staring at him openmouthed like an idiot.

"Name's Michel," he said, sticking out his hand for Dean to shake.

Sam kicked Dean in the ankle, and he started, putting his hand in Michel's and shaking it.

"Nice to meet you," said Dean. "I'm Dean, this is Sam."

"Boys on the run from their father," Narcisse explained.

"Oh," said Michel, with a tone of understanding. "Well. Ain't we all."

Michel nodded toward the back.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you like," he said. "Gets pretty noisy out here until about 2 am, but then people head on home. They's a clean room in the back if you want it, an' I could use some help around the bar if you're interested."

"Thank you," said Dean. 

"We'd be happy to work," put in Sam.

"Why don't you go take a look at the room then?" asked Michel. "Sorry, _cha,_ I'm just run off my feet."

"Don't worry," said Narcisse, and he kissed him again.

Sam pushed Dean toward the back while Dean gaped at the men.

"Close your mouth and stop staring or they're going to think you have a problem with gay people," Sam hissed in Dean's ear.

Dean did not have a problem with gay people.

He'd just never seen -

everything he knew about it was bruised knees and bathroom stalls and the intense shame.

And here, in the most unlikely of places -

two very tough-looking, badass men sharing a home and business, warmth and light and life.

Sam found the room for them because Dean was still in some kind of weird twilight of realization.

The room was small but clean, with two old cotlike beds that had brown metal head-and-foot pieces, covered with old handmade quilts. The mattresses sagged when sat on, but they were comfortable. A small porcelain sink and a mirror was in one corner and a window onto the swamp in another. The bathroom was attached to the room with a tiny shower.

It wasn't the most glamorous place in the world, but there was something about it that actually felt like _home._

Dean fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The last thing he saw was Sam standing at the window, staring out at the swamp in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have met Europeans throughout my life who find it very frustrating that Americans claim some kind of heritage ancestry. This can be due to a sort of misguided sense of love for family history, and no European will ever know the pain of having no defined background in the way that many Americans do. However, far more often than not, it's because much of America is made up of cultures like the ones described here. Children are raised in these communities and will always identify strongly with them. There are places across the USA where English is still not the first language of people. From Swedish to Hmong to Sudanese, there are immigrant communities that have retained so much of the origin-nation's tradition that in some places these things have been kept preserved when the same can no longer be said of the original country. One example is Canadian; the Scots Gaelic of Nova Scotia, for example, is a version that matches the way Gaelic was spoken hundreds of years before. This is called a "lost world" and there are countless hundreds of these across the USA and Canada.
> 
> Cajun French is still widely spoken in Louisiana, and this region is something of a nation unto itself. Likewise, Irish is still spoken in Boston. There are multiple Chinatowns, Koreatowns, and places like Little Italy. Then, each individual Native American tribe is a nation unto itself (different language, different faith expressions, different foods and cultures). Yes, there is a very unfortunate strip-mall capitalist image of the USA, but that's just surface. Scratch it and you find a melting pot of different cultures with very long histories.


	44. January 20th - Las Cruces, Fourth Day - Now

Dean came to in pitch-black darkness.

At first he thought he was blindfolded.

Then he realized that he was somewhere deep underground in a windowless place.

"Hey!" he shouted, or tried to, but his voice came out scratchy and thready. 

There was no answer. Not a sound, apart from faraway dripping.

"Damn it, got the jump on me," Dean muttered to himself. 

He seemed to be tied to a chair, but arms and legs separate, giving him no leverage at all.

In the quiet darkness, there was a whispering sound that began and then stopped so quickly he wasn't certain he'd heard it.

"Hello?" called Dean.

There was no response.

Inside his head, he prayed fervently:

_Cas, Castiel._

_I hope you can hear me._

_I don't know where I am, but I'm hurt and tied up._

_Try to hone in on my prayer, okay?_

_**i love you** _

But if Dean had hoped to see a burst of angelic, furious light, white and blue, he was disappointed.

He just sat there, alone in the dark, and listened to the whispering come closer.

***

Dean must have passed out again, because when he came to, there was singing.

Soft singing, in the darkness.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean demanded. "Let me go."

"Oh," said a silky voice. "I see we're awake. Delightful."

Dean struggled against his bonds.

"When I get outta here - "

"Yes, yes, you'll murder me and everyone I've ever loved," said the voice. "I know. I've heard it all, Dean Winchester."

Dean stared into the darkness, heart trying to claw its way up his throat.

"Are you the one who's been killing the drifters?" he asked.

"The one?" asked the voice. "Hm. I was led to believe you were a better hunter than that."

Something touched Dean's hand in the darkness. He startled badly.

He looked down at his hand and there was suddenly a slight, dim glow.

A small, black-eyed child was staring up at him.

As Dean opened his mouth to demand whether the kid was responsible, it shook its head and placed a finger against its lips.

It just kept holding Dean's hand.

He realized that his eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness, and he could make out the outline of his captor.

"So what are you?" asked Dean, wiggling his hand at the kid to indicate a request for assistance with the ropes.

The kid started working at the knots with its little fingers.

"Does it matter?" asked the person - because it was clearly person-shaped - standing in one corner.

"Making conversation," said Dean lightly.

"Fine. You've got a few minutes."

_Before what?_ Dean wondered.

"You spend enough time with monsters, you forget there are other horrors out there," said the figure. 

In the dim light apparently being broadcast from the black-eyed kid, Dean saw that the floor was crawling with roaches.

"Nice," said Dean, "Very _Temple of Doom._ "

He wished he had a fucking flamethrower.

"Anyway, what's the point, huh?" Dean asked, as the kid kept working at the ropes and the roaches got closer. "Thought you just wanted to take drifters out."

"Like I said, it's more of a _we_ thing," said the figure. "See, you think it's wrong, the whole _drifter serial killer_ thing, but Dean - aren't you?"

"What?"

"A serial killer. Of monsters."

"Monsters are monsters."

"Kind of a shoot first, ask questions later attitude, isn't it?"

"I don't know what your angle is here," said Dean, finally getting his hand free. "But I've got friends -"

"Hm. Yes. And aren't _they_ monsters? An angel, a man with demon blood?"

Dean stopped for a moment.

"That why you picked me off instead of them?"

"I don't think you quite understand the scope of what I'm telling you," said the figure. "Humans created this network of hunters."

"Yeah, and?"

"How long did you think it would take before monsters did the same?"

_Shit._

This was so much bigger than someone picking off drifters one by one.

"That's why it's been happening all over the country so fast?" asked Dean.

"And why you've only clocked a few of them," said the figure. "It's true, what they say. Drifters aren't missed."

"Yeah, well," said Dean. "Somebody's gonna be missing me."

"Is that so?" asked the figure. "Then where are they?"

"Here," came a familiar growl, the flash of an angel blade hurtling across the room and finding its mark.

Dean just stared.

There was Castiel, all fire and fury, angelic grace.

He fixed his eyes on the black-eyed kid.

"No, Cas!" Dean shouted.

Castiel was almost beyond contact.

Then, a hand on his arm - 

_Sam._

"If Dean says don't, then don't," he said, in that quiet, even voice he had, that could calm down anyone.

"Uh - also, don't come in here," said Dean. "Could you maybe move the - the roaches?"

"Roaches?" asked Sam, visibly blanching in the light Castiel was giving off.

"Yeah, don't ask me what the plan was, because I don't know."

Castiel waved a hand and the insects vanished.

"Hey, thanks, kid," said Dean, but when he turned to look, the kid had disappeared.

Castiel wrenched his blade out of the body of the creature, which dissipated like a silverfish into powder on the ground.

"What the hell was it?"

"No clue. But that's kinda the least of our worries."

Castiel cut him out of his ropes and made to heft him out of the chair as if he was planning to carry him out of there like a sack of potatoes.

_Or a romance novel heroine,_ Dean absolutely did not think.

"I can walk, I'm all right," said Dean. "Just a little - _whoa -_ dizzy -"

Castiel settled on letting Dean lean against him, and they all walked out together.

***

"Man, I'm sorry I let them get the jump on me," said Dean, back at the motel room, which was suspiciously clean and put together.

Castiel just sat extremely close to him and stared at him from about an inch away as Dean drank some water.

"Cas, c'mon, some breathing room?" asked Dean.

Castiel sat back.

"My apologies," he said, as he slowly inched closer to him again.

"So they said there's a _monster_ network hunting _drifters_?" asked Sam. "Why drifters and not hunters? What the hell."

"Didn't really have time to find out," said Dean. "All I got outta that experience was a headache and a little information. But we're spinnin' our wheels chasin' a single killer all over the country. This is a bigger problem than we thought."

Castiel put his hand into Dean's hair, and Dean smacked it away lightly.

"C'mon, Cas," he said fondly.

Cas hadn't spoken since the incident in the cellar, almost as if he had forgotten how.

"Oh my God!" Sam yelped suddenly. "You two! You got together!"

"Can we celebrate angel pride later?" asked Dean. "This is some serious shit, Sam."

"Say that five times fast," said Sam. "Actually, wait a second."

He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of them.

"Sam, damn it!" said Dean.

"Aw, c'mon, Dean, let him take care of you," Sam said, mirth bubbling just below the surface. "He clearly wants to."

Dean glanced over at Castiel. He didn't have to look far, since Cas had gotten within an inch of his face again.

"All right, fine," groused Dean.

Castiel was on him in an instant, burritoing him in the blanket on the bed and wrapping his arms around Dean, almost knocking the water out of his hands and making weird little whirring sounds, nuzzling into Dean's neck.

Dean blushed a very bright red.

"Aww," said Sam, taking another picture.

" _Damn it, Sam!_ "


	45. January 22nd-23rd - Atchafalaya Basin, Second and Third Day - Then

Dean found that he really enjoyed working at the bar.

He'd always loved working with his hands, feeling his muscles move under the skin. He liked being useful and keeping fit. He liked building strength as he worked and the creativity that went into cocktails.

"You know, Sam," he said, after one exhausting shift as they were sitting at a table together, sharing a well-earned beer. "I could open a place like this someday, maybe."

"Hey, that would be great!" said Sam, warming to the idea immediately. "I could see you as a business owner."

"Wouldn't even have to get out of the business, really," said Dean. "Hunters could come through and visit."

"Really, you'd want that?" asked Sam.

"Sure, why not?"

"I mean..." Sam trailed off, picking at the label on his bottle. "For me, getting out means _getting out,_ you know?"

Dean had a hard time coming to terms with the idea of losing Sam in a sort of general sense.

But to lose him overall in the way he was describing -

"So we're gonna be like those siblings that never talk, only see each other on Christmas, it's really weird, the end?" asked Dean.

"It doesn't have to be like that," said Sam. "But I need some freedom, Dean. A little air to breathe. I think you do, too."

The very concept of independence, from their dad, from looking after Sam, from the hunting life- 

had never really occurred to Dean until that moment.

But as he thought about potential future bar ownership, a potential future where he was free to make his own decisions and do his own thing -

it was exhilirating and scary, the idea that one day, he might be his own man.

His gaze wandered, as it often did, over to Narcisse and Michel. The way they just sort of existed in each other's orbit, easy and sweet, out here in the swamps where nobody gave them any shit for it because their bar was the local bar and if they wanted to drink they'd sure as hell better be okay with it.

"Dean, why do you keep looking at them?" asked Sam. "Are you sure you don't have some kind of issue with it, because I know we aren't from like, a city, but -"

"I ain't got a problem with it," Dean interrupted. "Just - I kinda wish - "

"Our lives were like theirs?" supplied Sam.

Dean didn't want to correct him slightly, because he was thinking _I wish I could have what they have,_ but it was close enough.

"Something like that, yeah," said Dean.

Sam took a drink of his beer.

"Maybe someday, they will be."


	46. January 21st -23rd - Louisiana/Texas Border - Now

"Does this mean I finally get a room to myself?"

"Yeah, guess so."

Sam beamed. He clapped Cas on the back.

"I'm happy for you guys," said Sam. "But I'm even happier that I finally get some _privacy._ "

"Hey, it was - " Dean started.

"Take the damned win, Dean," said Sam.

"Okay. I'll take the win."

***

They left Las Cruces because there wasn't much more to do there. They could have stayed, but Dean felt uncomfortable being in the same place too long for no reason, so they left.

They passed through Texas, eventually.

"Driving through this state is like driving through eternity," bitched Dean.

"Hey," Sam said, rolling back into a sitting position from his nap. "You want to go to Mardi Gras?"

Dean grinned.

"Lotta old memories comin' back, huh," he said. "Yeah, that sounds fun. We're on a case, though."

"If it's as widespread as you say, it doesn't matter where we go," said Sam. "This isn't like Leviathan, where you cut off the head and the body dies. This kind of problem is like trying to stop hunters in general."

"Guess you're right," said Dean. "Well then. Mardi Gras. What do you think, Cas?"

"I will go wherever you wish."

"Awesome."

***

They booked a motel that night, after they'd reached the Louisiana border, because it was a point of personal pride for Dean to have gotten beyond Texas. Sam complained about it but Dean refused to budge.

Sam cheered up again when he finally got a key to his own room -

"On the _other end_ of the building," he specified, while they were checking in.

So that left Dean and Cas alone for the first time.

"Clothes off," Dean said.

Castiel turned to him, eyes wide.

"I want to make you feel good," Dean said softly. "Will you let me do that, Cas?"

Castiel nodded.

"Anything you wish."

Dean stood, arms folded, as he watched Castiel methodically undress. He loved watching him, all that incredible, harnessed power, the long lines of his body, the noble curve of his profile.

"Get on the bed," said Dean. "If you don't like something we're doing, you just tell me to stop, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Wings out."

Cas tilted his head back, and with a loud _crack,_ two beautiful, oilslick-black wings unfolded from his back.

Dean drew a ragged breath. From a distance, the wings were impressive. Up close, they were so beautiful it hurt him to look.

"You knew I was watching, didn't you," Dean said lightly.

"Yes."

Dean walked around the bed and looked Castiel in the eye.

Cas was already hard, and the fine tremor in his wings said more about the contained power in the angel than words ever could.

"You kept saying it was _wrong,_ what we were doing, in your mind."

Castiel nodded, and the sharp intake of breath followed by a twitch of his cock told Dean all he needed to know.

"But you get off on it, how wrong it is," said Dean, standing up again.

He circled around to Castiel's back. The joints beneath the wings were openly weeping, and a dark blue glow had begun to suffuse the feathers.

"It can't be just sex," said Dean, swiping a hand down Castiel's back and taking a taste of the oil. 

It was like wind and water, a rainy day at the ocean. It drove Dean crazy.

He unbuckled his belt, pulling out his cock.

"Because I know the other angels have had sex," said Dean. "So what's different about you, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head, and then looked over his shoulder at Dean.

Bright blue light shone behind his eyes.

_Loving you_

came barreling back into Dean's mind.

It froze him there for a moment.

"So," he said. "Loving a human, that's the big taboo upstairs?"

Castiel nodded, frantic.

Dean swiped up more of the oil and started to finger Castiel.

"You're already so - did you make yourself ready for me?" he asked in a low growl.

"Yes, Dean."

"Fuck, Cas," said Dean. He slicked up his cock and sank into the angel's heat on a long groan.

He reached up and put his hands around the wing joints, fucking Castiel back onto himself.

"You like that?" he asked. "Getting fucked by me?"

"Yes, Dean," Cas breathed.

"You love me," Dean said, and Cas whimpered. "You do, don't you?"

Cas moaned.

"Answer me, angel," Dean said.

"Y - yes, Dean, I - " Castiel said. "I love you."

He moaned, a shaky sob of a sound that went directly to Dean's dick.

"And you think it's wrong," said Dean, "yeah? But it feels so fuckin' good, doesn't it? Admit it, Cas, you fucking love it, you love this - "

"Dean - Dean - I shouldn't, I shouldn't," muttered Castiel.

"But you do," Dean said.

Castiel was fucking himself back on Dean now, his wings buffeting the air a little to keep his balance

"I do," babbled Castiel. "Oh, Dean, I do, I do, I love you so much, I love you, I love you -"

"You're so fuckin' dirty for me," Dean growled. "Dirty little angel."

Then he leaned in to Castiel's ear.

"I fuckin' wanna come all over your pretty feathers, angel," he said. "Mark you up as my own, like you did with your handprint. Show 'em we belong to each other now, you're mine, I'm yours."

Castiel's wings glowed an even brighter blue.

"An' you know why," he asked, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he pulled Castiel down onto his cock. 

" _Because I love you too._ "

Castiel's wings snapped out so suddenly Dean was almost knocked onto his ass.

Then Cas threw his head back and _screamed_ at the ceiling, a sound less human than any other he had made, wings dripping blue, the bed soaked with the wetness of him from his back, and that sudden, familiar shock wave rippled through the room as Castiel came across the bed.

Dean, who had covered his eyes just in time, pulled out, pushed Castiel onto his stomach and into his come on the bed. He jerked himself fast and dirty over Castiel's back.

" _Unnghh,_ " he grit out, as come started flying out of his cock and onto Cas's back, the sound of it pattering all over Castiel's beautiful wings making his eyes roll back in his head. "That's it. Fuckin' take it. Ah, fuck. _Fuck._ "

And he rubbed it into Cas's back, into the feathers of Cas's now-oversensitive wings, making the angel yelp a little, and then relax beneath Dean's ministrations.

A wash of cool wind spread through the room, and both of them were clean, as well as the bed beneath them.

Dean curled up with Castiel, who opened an arm and pillowed him on his shoulder.

"Was that," Dean started, sliding his hand up Castiel's chest. "Was that, uh. Okay?"

Castiel gave him a sated smile.

"Of course, Dean," he said.

"It's really taboo for you to love me?" asked Dean sadly.

"Not you specifically," said Castiel. "Although your status made it even more forbidden, which frankly made you more appealing."

"I thought they'd be more angry about the whole dude-on-dude sex thing."

"No, they don't care about that," said Castiel. "Besides, I'm not a _dude,_ I'm an angel."

"Are you using air quotes in bed?"

"Dean."

"Sorry."

"But to answer your question," Castiel continued, "sexual exploits with humans have been going on since time out of mind. The Bible talks of nephilim. Angels and humans have been doing things like that for centuries. Falling in love, on the other hand - that's not welcome."

"Huh," said Dean. "Almost like loving humans up there is looked down on like guys liking guys down here."

"Something like that, yes," said Castiel. "But the longer I've known you, the more I've realized that it isn't true. Much like in your example. Love is love, as the humans say these days."

Dean snuggled closer to Castiel.

"Yeah," he said. "Guess it is. Just wish it hadn't taken me so long to realize."


	47. January 24th - Atchafalaya Basin, Fourth Day - Then

"Happy birthday to you," sang Narcisse, as they set a gigantic cake down in front of Dean. "Happy birthday to Dean, happy birthday to you!"

Everyone in the bar cheered.

"Make a wish!" Michel said.

Dean took a deep breath and blew out the candles.

Everyone cheered again.

The dance started up then, the _fais do-do_ of Cajun country, the celebration wild and noisy, echoing throughout the swamp. People who weren't at the bar yet were attracted by the sounds of celebration, and people kept arriving all night, bringing bottle after bottle and gift after gift.

Later, Sam found Dean standing in the corner, slowly eating a piece of cake and watching the band.

"So, what did you wish for?" he shouted over the noise.

"Can't tell you that, Sam," Dean shouted back. "Or it won't come true."

"Right," said Sam, and then got dragged away by one of the women to join the dance.

Dean watched them fondly.

_I wish we could stay like this forever._

The zydeco music went on, and he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _fais do-do_ : Cajun dance party
> 
>  _zydeco_ : French Creole music, fast piano, blues, etc. originating from the Cajun, Creole, and Native American peoples of Louisiana


	48. January 24th - Pamukkale - Now

"So I guess - where do you want to go next? It's your birthday in a couple of days, where do you want to spend it?"

"I don't know, Sam, we've got a pretty big problem here right now."

"And nothing we can do about it for the moment, so. Hey, Cas. Did Dean ever tell you that he's always wanted to go to Turkey?"

***

Dean stood on some kind of promontory, surrounded by clear, crystal lakes carved from white rock. The lakes were an ethereal blue that reminded him of Castiel's eyes.

"I was here, in Hierapolis, before it fell," murmured Castiel from behind him, kissing the juncture between Dean's shoulder and neck.

Dean shivered. He didn't know what to say. 

Or what he had to offer.

A couple of agates. Ripped jeans. A car that wasn't even really his own.

Castiel could quite literally give him the entire world.

"Where are we?" asked Dean.

"Pamukkale, Turkey," said Castiel.

Dean refused to turn around, because he could feel the tears in his eyes.

"Happy birthday, Dean."

***

Later, Castiel took him to Istanbul, where Dean finally got to see a bazaar.

He was fascinated by the little pyramids of spices, the sights and sounds, the hot apple tea ferried back and forth by the merchants for the customers. He took it all in with a childlike sense of awe.

When Castiel took him to a _hammam_ next, and the worker spun him around on the soapy marble, Dean laughed with pure joy like he hadn't felt since -

well -

he had probably never felt like this before.

And Castiel, standing nearby in the play of light from the handcarved designs in the ceiling, just watched him with a serene kind of smile.

***

Later, in their hotel, Dean turned to Castiel.

"You're not a monster to me, Cas," said Dean. "I just wanted you to know. However you are - angel, human, whatever - you're it for me."

Castiel turned to look at him, as the sounds of the streets of Istanbul filled the air, and the late afternoon sun played shadows on his face.

"But - if I become human - then I can't," said Castiel, whose command of language was apparently similar to Dean's when it related to serious topics.

"Cas, this is all amazing, it is," said Dean. "I ain't gonna lie. But it's _you_ I want, okay? Cas, I want you to stay. Will you please stay? None of this stuff means anything. We can fly to Turkey or whatever."

"You'd get on a plane for me?"

"I'd do anything for you, Cas. Honest truth."

"But you kicked me out," said Castiel. "Said that if I didn't have my powers, I was as much use as a baby in a trenchcoat. Do you know how many times I thought about that while I was homeless?"

Dean bowed his head. He had many regrets, and that was among the top ten hits.

"I was an asshole, okay?" said Dean. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to make it up to you. But I didn't think that way then, not really. I - I felt things, for you, it scared the shit outta me. Not an excuse, I know that, just saying. And I ain't gonna dress it up because the thing is, I've been shitty to you in the past and I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making it up to you. If you want."

He cradled Castiel's face in his hands.

"I love you," he said, loud and clear.

He expected it to be earth-shattering.

It both was, and it wasn't.

Castiel brightened considerably, and wrapped his hands around Dean's wrists.

"I love you, too, Dean," he said, and kissed him softly.

"So you knew," said Dean. "Like. The whole time."

He felt Castiel grin against his back.

"My apologies, Dean," said Castiel. "They say all is fair in love and war, and they did put me in charge of a garrison for a reason."

"Strategist and tactician, Heaven's best," said Dean, and closed his eyes. "Damn it. You totally played me."

"You seemed to enjoy yourself."

"Yeah, when I wasn't having an existential crisis about it!"

"I could give you about three more right now."

"Uh - "

"I built Pamukkale, you know," said Castiel. "And various mountains. Canyons, valleys. The Great Barrier Reef."

Dean didn't know what to say.

"So I know, as an architect," said Castiel, "that I have talent."

"Okay?"

"And my crowning achievement," Castiel told him, "was rebuilding you."

Dean just stared at him.

"You, the body in which I take my pleasure," murmured Castiel, as they looked out over Istanbul together. "The love I began to feel, it was - overwhelming. It was like a religion. Your body, these hands built it all. But it is your soul that is beautiful, Dean, and that is all you."

"Wow, Cas," said Dean, because it was all he could think of to say. "Not sure I really measure up."

Castiel smiled. 

"Of course you do," he said. "You are the greatest gift I could have dreamed of receiving."

And the angel just stared at him like he was the only thing in the world, heaven and earth, the universe.

"Why are you always lookin' at me like that?" asked Dean. "Ain't like I'm the eighth wonder of the world or something."

"Of course not, Dean," said Castiel. "You're the first."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pamukkale is real, and very, very cool.
> 
> _hammam_ : Turkish bath, and yes, the guys will spin you around like that on the marble.


	49. January 25th - Atchafalaya Basin, Fifth Day - Then

It was the end of the night, and the last few boats had left the bar.

Narcisse and Michel were sitting with Sam and Dean, Michel singing an old French song.

"Here, Sam, watch this," said Michel. Narcisse smiled and brought out a deck of playing cards, which he shuffled with an expert hand.

"Magic isn't in the knowing," said Narcisse.

"It's in the most unexpected places," said Michel, reaching out and pulling an ace of diamonds from behind Sam's ear.

Sam's eyes sparkled.

"Wow!" he said. "You have to teach me how to do that!"

"Sure, _cha,_ I will," grinned Narcisse. Michel put his arm around Narcisse's shoulders.

Dean pretended not to be impressed with the magic trick, when he was secretly just as astounded as Sam.

But it was their casual ease with each other that Dean thought was the real magic.

"How'd you guys get together?" he said suddenly.

They traded a look, secrets hidden behind smiles.

"Michel is from Paris," said Narcisse.

Dean's jaw dropped.

"Paris?!" he repeated. "And now you live - in the swamp."

"Yes," nodded Michel.

"But - but it's a _swamp,_ " said Dean. "Why would you leave Paris for a swamp?"

Michel shrugged.

"Because I fell in love," he said. "Because Paris may be beautiful, but it's not for everyone. The bayou is full of mystery and wonder in ways that Paris will never be. There is beauty here that the grandest parts of Paris cannot match."

He put his hand in Narcisse's.

"And of course, there's him."

"Have you ever thought about moving to Paris together?" asked Sam, because the very idea of Paris was thrilling to him, as Dean knew all too well. All that history and art and culture he talked about constantly.

"I've offered," said Narcisse. "But I think we'd both find it hard to leave the bayou behind. This place is the only resource a lot of the people here have, and the only social interaction they get on a regular basis. I kind of feel responsible for them."

"Besides," shrugged Michel. "I was never all that fond of Paris anyway."

He stared at Narcisse fondly, and Narcisse answered him with a soft grin.

"We should clean up and close down," said Michel. "You boys feel free to have another beer."

"You don't want help?" asked Dean.

"No, that's all right," said Narcisse. "You two enjoy a little time off. You've been good workers."

And they stood up together, and went over to the bar to count the money and close down, sharing soft glances and little stolen kisses with each other.

Dean watched them with a fascinated curiosity and an ache in his heart.

"You know," said Sam, "they've never once asked us about dad or anything. Like where we came from, why we're running."

"Yeah," said Dean vaguely. "I noticed that, too."

And in the late-night song of the insects and wildlife of the bayou, Dean watched the two men working together, perfectly at ease with one another, and he wondered about magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The people who live in the Louisiana bayou this way are a combination of Cajun, French Creole, and Native American (Houma and Choctaw, for example). The people tend to be very poor, and ever since the States started importing shrimp, one of their major sources of income has vanished. There are entire communities that live on the water like Narcisse and Michel, French and Spanish speaking due to the history of Louisiana. Places like the bar/restaurant described here are the central meeting points for the people who live in this type of environment.


	50. January 25th - Louisiana/Texas Border, Second Day - Now

Eventually, of course, Dean's hangups were going to come roaring back. It had just been a matter of time.

Now, in the motel after Castiel's birthday gift of Turkey, Dean had brown-bagged it and wouldn't look at him.

He drank from the bottle, staring at the television set.

"Is something the matter, Dean?" Castiel finally asked.

"Nothin'," Dean replied, eyes fixed on whatever the screen showed, but he didn't register anything.

His mind was filled with things he'd rather leave buried.

_I didn't raise my son like this._

_You do realize that you're consorting with a monster._

"I don't think we can keep doin' this, Cas," Dean finally slurred.

He saw Castiel's alarmed look in the television, and how it finally faded to resignation.

Dean wasn't prepared for how that success would hurt him.

He still yearned for Cas, he ached for him just like he always had. Despite the recent change in their relationship, he still couldn't get enough. It was the strangest feeling he'd ever had, and the best.

Which was the reason he had to tear it out of himself somehow.

_Good. You deserve to hurt._

"It's just too weird," said Dean.

"Where's this coming from?" asked Castiel. "Dean, talk to me. Please."

Dean turned to look at him. 

He almost wished he hadn't. He could feel his own heart and the cracks that were growing.

"You were right, Cas," he said. "You're a monster. And I just can't do this anymore."

Castiel's crestfallen look hit him directly in the chest.

"No, this can't be right," said Cas. "Did something happen?"

"Cas, you're a creature," said Dean. "Not even human. You _lay eggs,_ for God's sake. I can't even imagine what you look like! I thought it could work because you at least _look_ human, but."

"Oh," said Castiel sadly. "I see."

Defeated, he turned to go.

"I suppose I'll - I'll just - I'll go, then," he said.

He paused, as if waiting for Dean to change his mind, call him back, take those words back.

"See ya," said Dean.

Moments later, with the sound of wings, Castiel was gone.

Dean put his head into the crook of his elbow and wept.

***

"Gone?" asked Sam in a flat voice at the diner. "What do you mean, _Cas is gone_?"

"Just wasn't gonna work out," Dean told him lightly, as he chewed on his bacon.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?"

_Too weak. You have nothing to give him anyway._

_No son of mine is going to be some kinda fairy._

_No son of mine is going to consort with monsters._

Dimly, Dean was aware that most of these thoughts were not his own, but they'd been there for such a long time that it was nearly impossible to tell the difference.

"It weirded me out, okay?" said Dean. 

"It's _Cas_ ," said Sam.

"Did you know he lays eggs?"

Sam sat up, startled.

"What? Really?"

"That's what he said."

"And that's your issue with this."

"No, it's not - it's not just that," said Dean. "He's _not human_ , Sam."

"So what?"

"In case you haven't noticed, we hunt things like him."

"Dean. You are so fucking stupid."

"Whoa, hey!"

"No. You are! Of course there are things about Cas we don't know. Hell! Have you ever asked him? Ever gotten to know _literally anything_ about his real life in heaven, how angels work, angel society, angel houses, who the hell knows!"

Dean was taken aback for a moment.

"Sure, I - I have," he said, but when he tried to recall whether he'd ever asked Cas about his home, about what life in Heaven involved, about anything, he came up with absolute zero.

"Here's the thing," said Sam, in a strangely fierce whisper across the table. "I have put up with your shit all my life. Your zero-to-sixty meet-then-fuck-then-leave relationships with girls! But damn it, Dean, _this is Cas!_ "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean he isn't just some two-bit lay in a one-horse town, damn it!" said Sam. "The guy is our best friend and you are - "

Sam sighed. He pushed his hands through his hair reflexively, tying it back in a ponytail.

"Did you go from nothing, to fucking, no conversation, no middle ground?"

Dean stared at his little brother. He swallowed.

"Uh," he said.

"Dean. I can't _believe_ this," Sam said. "You need to get over whatever fucking baggage you have, and _fast,_ before you lose the best thing that's ever happened to you. The best thing that's ever happened _to us._ "

"I'm serious, Sam," said Dean, because he hated the feeling that his brother was right. "I don't think a relationship with a monster is sustainable -"

"Since when was _Cas_ a _monster_?" asked Sam. "Seriously, this is the first time you have _ever_ called him that, and I doubt it's just because he dropped his egg-laying capabilities on you!"

Dean just sat there, evaluating his own thought process. He wasn't sure exactly when the change happened, but it was dark and strong, and he felt justified in it.

"Believe me, Sam, it just isn't gonna work out," said Dean. "Sorry. Besides, we're at war now."

"When are we not?" asked Sam, exasperated. "Listen, Dean, he just took you to Turkey for your birthday! That's the kind of love people dream about - well mostly they don't, because that kind of love is impossible."

"Look, Sam, if he thinks he can buy me off with fancy trips," said Dean, "I'll have you know, I stopped hooking a long time ago."

All the blood drained from Sam's face.

"You know what?" Sam said. "I suspected you were doing that, all those years ago. Nice to finally get confirmation. And I'm fucking horrified that you're putting _Cas_ in the same category as a _john._ "

Sam shook his head.

"Holy shit, Dean," he said. "I just can't with you sometimes."

He shut his laptop and slid out of the booth.

"Where are you going?" asked Dean.

"I'm paying for my breakfast," said Sam. "Then I'm going to spend some time away from you, because I'm fucking furious."

He went up to the register. Dean watched him pay, anger in the set of his shoulders, and then walk out the door.

Dean went back to his pancakes and bacon with a shrug, but inside, he was a mess.

_I'm going to end up alone, if I keep this up._

_At least you'll have impressed your dead father, who's no longer around to pass judgment._

No matter how much food he stuffed into his face, it tasted like ash in his mouth.


	51. January 26th - Atchafalaya Basin, Sixth Day - Then

"Well, Sammy," said Dean. "Looks like we better hit the road."

Sam turned to him, broom in hand.

"What? Why?"

"Because," said Dean, but didn't go further. 

It wasn't really a reason.

Just an itch that was always there.

"Dean, we don't _have_ to constantly keep moving!" said Sam. "How's Dad going to find us all the way out here in the swamp?"

"It's just a good idea to stay in motion," said Dean.

Sam sighed. He put the broom away and went to sit beside his brother.

"Look, Dean, I get it," he said. "You're a drifter. Probably the only natural one in the family."

"But - "

Sam held up a hand.

"Dad does it because of what happened to Mom," he said. "I do it because of both of you. _You_ do it because you're naturally inclined. But I'm not, Dean! I want to stay in one place for a while."

"We've been here almost a week."

"That's my point," said Sam. "That's not very long! Most people spend years in one place and they don't think that's very long either."

Dean tried to imagine spending as long as three months in one location and blanched at the thought.

"You're my brother, and I'm glad we're so close," Sam pursued, "but we're _different people,_ and I want to stay."

"I don't know what to do," said Dean. "I can't leave you here, and I can't stay."

Sam just held his gaze.

The kid could be stubborn when he wanted to be.

"If Dad freaked out about the phone," said Dean, "then he might have come looking, okay? Found the phone was chucked into some kudzu somewhere roadside in Mississippi. Then he'd wonder if we'd been kidnapped, and stop at nothing to find us. He'd eventually find the Impala, via the cops or otherwise, and then have the swamp dredged for our bodies or something!"

Sam gave him a sober look.

"You really think he'd do that?" he asked, uncertain.

"Sure he would," said Dean, warming to his narrative. "I know he seems like a hardass sometimes, but he really cares about us, okay? And the last thing I want is to bring the law down here, bothering these guys."

"Do you think the cops care about places like this?"

"Yeah, sometimes," said Dean vaguely.

"Well, I wouldn't want Narcisse and Michel in trouble."

"Yeah," Dean agreed.

Sam's shoulders sagged.

"Okay," he said. "I guess we can leave. But we say goodbye. No sneaking out, all right?"

"All right."

***

"I wish you boys could stay longer," said Narcisse, hugging them both. "Are you sure that you'll be all right? I don't like to think that you're going to be in trouble with your old man."

"We'll be fine," said Dean. "Thanks for taking us in."

"Thanks for everything," said Sam, hugging Michel, who then put his hand out for Dean to shake.

Dean shook his hand, and then hugged him, too.

***

They made their way back across the swamp until they found the landing where they'd left the car.

Dean hopped out of the pirogue, and Sam followed.

Dean eagerly went around the corner to see if his predictions had come true.

The Impala sat alone beneath the Spanish moss, just where he had left it.

"Dad's not here," said Sam helpfully.

"Yeah," said Dean in a faint voice.

_But I threw the phone out the window! We disappeared! We abandoned the car!_

_Doesn't he even care?_

"Get in the car," said Dean gruffly.

"Well, since Dad's not here, we could go back," Sam suggested, but there was doubt in his voice.

"We've said our goodbyes, Sam," Dean said tightly. "Get in the car."

"Okay," said Sam, getting into the passenger side. "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere but here."

***

Several hours later, as the darkness deepened across the sky, they found themselves in New Orleans.


	52. January 26-28th - New Orleans - Now

Dean breathed.

In and out.

He was alone in the motel room because of course he was, Sam wasn't about to give up all that hard-won freedom just because Dean couldn't get over himself.

Unfortunately for Sam, the things he'd said only served as barbed hooks dragging Dean down further.

_I'm such an asshole. Treating Cas like that. Fuck._

_\- i love him - so fucking much -_

He rolled over in bed and shouted into his pillow, furious at himself and the world and how just the thought of Cas got him going again.

Shame and fear, self-loathing, all those familiar things.

_He must've thought I was so pathetic, flashbacks over nothing really. Wasting his time protecting me. Just wasting his time in general._

_\- god, I want him so bad -_

_What the hell is wrong with me, that I want not only a guy, but a monster?_

_Why have I never asked Castiel about his life? Where he lives? Hobbies? Talents?_

_No, it's just Dean, Dean, Dean, all the damned time._

_Selfish ass._

Even so, with tears in his eyes, he started jacking off to make himself feel better, placing his hand on the handprint, wishing he wasn't so fucked up, wishing he hadn't fucked up, and still doing this despite knowing for certain that it opened a direct line to Castiel.

" _Ungh, fuck,_ " he swore, as he spilled over his hand, feeling even more like an absolute jerk than he did before.

Feeling more like he was the one who came off the line with a crack in his chassis.

***

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches," Dean said to himself through his toothbrush in the mirror. "Cas likes those. Guinea pigs?"

He brushed his teeth meditatively, trying to remember what else Castiel had told him he enjoyed.

Dean leaned over and spit the toothpaste into the sink.

He stood up again and looked at himself in the mirror.

"Emoticons?" he said.

_God, you are a total asshole. This guy - your best friend, **maybe** the love of your life, and you don't know anything about him!_

_Maybe the whole egg-laying thing wouldn't have been so shocking if you had ever **asked** the guy about his true form, his real life, his life outside of **you.**_

"Zachariah said that he had four heads, and one of them was a lion," said Dean, rinsing off the toothbrush and putting it back into the little black leather travel bag. "Does that mean Cas has four heads? Or is that just certain types of angels? Cupids like hugging, it's like saying hello."

Dean was ashamed of his lack of knowledge about angels. After Cas had tried so hard to learn about humanity, about being human, about Sam and Dean and the things they loved -

not _once_ had they talked to him about _him._

He abruptly remembered that long-ago conversation with Bobby, where he told them that they constantly whined and put him in the middle, they never thought about anyone besides themselves. He'd been right at the time, and -

well.

Dean now understood why Cas thought of himself as only useful when he was at full power.

"And I fucking pushed him away," said Dean to himself. " _Again._ If there's a prize for being the worst kinda asshole, I'm gonna get the blue ribbon."

He gripped the sink with both hands and leaned forward a little, head bowed.

He realized that he had little to no experience in this part -

the part afterwards.

Dean loved first kisses and first times, the excitement and challenge of sex, the push and pull of it all. Cas, in all his alien, otherworldly glory, turned him on more than anything he'd ever experienced, and then felt an avalanche of shame about, because he was supposed to hunt things like Cas, he wasn't supposed to be _excited_ by them.

And it was here, he thought, that John Winchester had really done the most damage.

He was - _speciesist,_ if that was a thing.

The thing was, this was all different.

Different than anything he'd ever had before. 

Than Cassie, or even Lisa.

Cas was -

this was the long-term, scary, choose-you-every-day, _hard_ kind of love.

Romantic commitment was not something Dean had much experience with and he had run away again, in no uncertain terms.

Except the real problem this time was that Dean loved him back. Loved him with his whole being. Loved him in a way that was huge and terrifying, both in its potential and its potential for loss.

Dean felt small and strange, stupid and hopeless, in the great yawning chasm of what this might mean for his future, if he had been brave.

Because facing things that terrify you is what counts for bravery, and Dean had run like hell, hurting Cas in the process.

Sure, he fought ghosts and monsters every day, and he was nominally scared most of the time, generally because that was the wise choice.

But things like this? 

A love that he would have to work on and nurture, romantic love beyond that initial thrill of sex?

Dean Winchester was a coward where it counted.

***

Dean and Sam were on their way into New Orleans when Sam had thawed out a little bit.

"If you need to talk, I'm here," he said bluntly, and then went back to staring out the window.

Dean didn't know if he needed to talk.

Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he did - if it would ever stop.

He knew that deep-seated ache, that horrible self-hatred, so familiar now that he wouldn't know what to do with the loss of it.

For a moment, there, as Castiel laughed while the Turkish ice cream men performed their tricks on Dean, while they were standing in the pools of Pamukkale, when he caught Castiel's eye and grinned over the spice pyramids of the bazaar -

for a brief, swooping moment, he'd felt it lift, felt what it might be like if he liked himself, all because of Cas -

and it was _that,_ really, that scared the shit out of him.

Not Cas's true form, his weird bird rituals or egg laying or whatever the hell else Cas got up to in heaven, not even the idea of a committed relationship that might take a lot of work and might set him up for a lot to lose -

but that feeling of lightness, of acceptance of himself, of _happiness,_ was so foreign that he had to punish himself immediately for thinking he was allowed to feel it at all, until the old familiar sense of self-loathing set in and the world had returned to its equilibrium.

As they parked at the new hotel and headed inside, Dean wondered if his entire legacy would be one of self-sabotage and denial, leaving a scattered trail of hurt loved ones in his wake, just as if _he_ had been the monster in their lives.

He flirted shamelessly with the hot blonde receptionist in an effort to forget. She gave him her number and he told her since she knew what room he was staying in, maybe she should stop by later. He'd winked and walked off, reigniting Sam's anger with him. His brother had walked off without another word and closed the door of his own room in his face.

Dean sat alone in his room, the little wrought-iron balcony over Bourbon Street showing happy revelers.

He looked out at them, and he felt nothing at all.


	53. January 27th - New Orleans - Then

"Okay, I am putting my foot down," said Sam, as they entered the diner together.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Dean, and then spoke to the hostess. "Table for two, please."

"We're staying here for _at least_ a month," said Sam.

"But - "

"No," said Sam. "We've done it your way, okay? I listened to you, and we ended up leaving Sola's, and Narcisse and Michel's. I want to make friends, I want to have a life. Dean, are you listening to me?"

Dean smiled at the hostess when she returned, and followed her to the table where two red plastic glasses with bubbling were filled with cocktail ice and straws with the ends of the paper wrappers still on them.

"Classy place," said Dean, whistling, as he slid into the booth.

"Damn it, Dean," said Sam. "Did you hear anything I said?"

"Loud and clear, Sammy," said Dean. "But it ain't gonna happen."

"Yeah?" asked Sam. "What're you gonna do about it? Because I'm _staying here_ , Dean. I really liked working out there and I think you did, too. You don't _need_ to be constantly moving, and now we're not hunting. You said we could have a free year, and I don't just want to be constantly on the run from place to place for no reason."

Dean regarded his brother for a while. He picked up the straw and then blew through it, the little piece of straw paper hitting Sam right between the eyes and floating downward.

Sam gave him a long-suffering look.

"You _promised,_ " said Sam, "and if this year is for me, for _us,_ I think it wouldn't kill us to hang around and make some friends, make some _money_ , Dean. It's a big city, I'm sure there are plenty of _legal_ opportunities."

Sam gave him a pointed look that Dean sincerely hoped didn't mean he knew how Dean had been scrounging up money this last little while.

"Okay, fine," said Dean. "There's a few motels with monthly rates. You want to check into one of those?"

" _Yes_ ," said Sam emphatically. "Thank you so much."

He grinned, and Dean couldn't help but smile back. 

"Will you start eating salad now, too?"

"Don't push your luck."


	54. January 28th - New Orleans, Third Day - Now

"Hello, Sam."

Dean looked up at Castiel, startled, coffee mug halfway to his mouth.

"What, no _hello Dean_?" he asked.

The angel wouldn't even look at him.

"Hi, Cas," said Sam. "Would you like to sit down?"

"No thank you," said Castiel. "What's wrong? Was another drifter murdered? You said it was an emergency in your prayer."

"It is an emergency," said Sam. "Talk to each other. Please."

Sam scooted out of the booth and ran like hell, the bastard.

_Damn it, Sam!_

Castiel moved away from Dean's side and sat down in the booth with the air of a man waiting for a root canal or possibly execution by firing squad.

He still wouldn't look Dean in the eye.

"Nice diner," he said. "A little higher-class than your usual."

"Wow," said Dean, sitting back, his spine stiff. "Didn't realize you had a taste for the finer things in life, Cas."

"Hard to develop one around you," Cas replied.

_Knock it off! Do you **want** to fuck this up **again**?_

So Dean dropped it.

"Look, Cas," said Dean. 

He stared into his coffee. What could he possibly say?

 _There's magic where you least expect it,_ came someone's voice from his long-ago past.

He couldn't quite remember who had said it, but it gave him the courage to go on.

"Uh," he started again. "Tell me about angels."

"Angels?" asked Castiel, startled, as if he hadn't expected that to come out of Dean's mouth.

Truth be told, Dean hadn't expected it, either.

"Why?" asked Cas, narrowing his eyes. "Is it angels doing it?"

"Buddy, if angels were doing it - okay I'm not making that joke," said Dean. "No, I mean. I want to know more about you, Cas. About how things work for angels. Like, do you play bocce ball or whatever."

_This is going real well, champ. Great fuckin' job!_

"Bocce ball?" asked Castiel, staring up at the wrought-iron arches at the edge of the diner.

"Okay, forget bocce ball," said Dean. "I just meant, like. You know a lot about humans and I don't know very much about angels."

"Oh," said Castiel. "And?"

Dean started listing all the work he needed to do on the Impala in his head.

_Do not fuck this up!_

"And," said Dean. "I'd like to know. More. About angels. About you. Your real life, away from - away from all this."

Suddenly, Castiel smiled.

Dean's heart just melted.

" _Oh,_ " Cas said, and then hesitated. "Are you sure it won't - Dean, I'm _not human,_ you said -"

"Forget what I said, okay?" Dean replied. "Sometimes I'm an asshole. That's not an excuse, there's no excuse, but I'm sorry about what I said and for pushing you away. I'm trying. I'm new to all this - this -"

Dean breathed out. He could do this. He fought monsters every day.

"I love you, and it scares me," he said. 

He breathed in.

"The only things I inherited from my father were the Impala and a shitload of hangups," he said. "I'm not much, Cas, not even by human standards. Bruised and busted up, both out here and in here."

He pointed vaguely to his heart and his head.

"And if there's a lower working class, I'm beneath even that, I'm underground," said Dean. "And you are _so_ out of my league on every level."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

"I can't say it won't be a bumpy road," he said. "I got more demons than any man has a right to, and it won't be pretty, a lot of the time."

Cas just watched him with those big blue eyes.

"But," he said, "I'm willing to try."

"Dean, the things you said _hurt me,_ " said Castiel. "I know that you are suffering, but there's no need to make me suffer, too."

"I know," Dean said faintly. "I was an asshole. I don't know what else to say. Where did you go, afterward?"

"I sat inside the great pyramid, where the treasures are," said Castiel. "I couldn't be out in the light. Everything reminds me of you. Then it turned out that the treasures reminded me of you too."

"You didn't go back to heaven?"

"I'm not exactly popular at home, Dean."

Dean stared at him. The weight of what Castiel had left behind finally, truly sank in. 

An ethereal, cosmic being that gave up _everything -_

home, siblings, a familiar life and culture, hell, even a familiar _body -_

for the pleasure of tagging along after Dean Winchester.

The realization nearly deep-sixed him all over again.

Because he knew all of that, but there was a difference between _knowing_ and _getting it._

"Holy shit, Cas," said Dean with reverence. "Holy _shit._ And I mean that."

That old voice screaming _worthless, worthless!_ sailed through his mind, a spear of shame and undeservedness slicing through him deep, and he made a valiant effort to overcome and ignore it.

He _deserved_ better.

And Cas did, too.

Dean clung to that idea and let it pull him back up into the light.

"I'm willing," said Dean. "I'm willing to put in the effort to do this right."

And Dean breathed out, as Cas breathed in.

It reminded Dean of something he'd read about Hawaii - the shared breath of life.

And he realized that he'd do anything to be sharing life and breath with Castiel.

"Then I am willing, too," said Castiel. "You are not the only one with 'hangups', as you say."

Dean smiled a little, weak and watery, but it was there.

"So we're in this together," he said.

He'd never been so terrified.

"It appears so," said Castiel.

He reached across the table and grazed the back of Dean's hand with his own.

It felt like fireworks.

"Angels," said Castiel. "What did you want to know?"

***

Dean sat spellbound as Castiel described heaven.

Not the weird memorex heaven that he'd seen - angels were in human guise there too - but the great City, the angelic beings in reality -

"There are multiple kinds of angels, and they are difficult to describe," said Cas. "In my true form, I am multiple rings spinning in concentric circles."

"Uh," said Dean, trying to imagine it.

"I have roughly 1,200 eyes, arranged around the rings."

"Okay."

"And I am on fire."

"What?" Dean asked. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"No," said Castiel. "It's a part of me, like your skin is a part of you."

Dean blinked.

"And, uh," he said. "The wings?"

"I have many thousands of those as well," said Castiel.

"What, thousands?"

"Yes, as I previously stated, I am roughly the size of your Chrysler Building," said Castiel. "The wings are necessary to lift me. Imagine this vessel as only - hm. Something like a finger puppet."

"I thought all of you was crammed down in there."

"Hm. Somewhat? But the wings you see are a manifestation of my true form. In reality - well. Yes, I would say something like my _consciousness_ is crammed down into the vessel. But there are parts of me on the ethereal plane."

"Like your wings."

"Yes."

"What's the, uh, the stuff that comes out of your back?" asked Dean, blushing a little.

"Wing oil. Mainly it is used to clean and shine the feathers, as you would with your car."

"Huh. And - it's also a sex thing."

"Inasmuch as our coupling can be translated into the human experience, yes."

"And the eggs?"

"Dean," said Castiel, "all feathered creatures lay eggs, you know this."

"Yeah, but," said Dean. "You're a boy. Guy. Man. Whatever."

"Angels don't have gender in that way," said Castiel. "Well, we do, but - you do know that male seahorses can get pregnant?"

Dean nodded.

"And you've heard about frogs that can change sex on a whim."

"Yeah, I saw _Jurassic Park._ "

"Angels are much the same," said Castiel. "Childbearing options are open to all, in case of war or some other depletion of the angelic host. Technically, yes, I am male as an angel as well, but that again has a wildly different definition than humanity would assume."

"Are you saying we're small-minded?"

"Are you saying you're not?"

"Touché."

Dean leaned back and regarded Castiel, his head spinning with all this new information.

"Are you sure," said Cas, suddenly uncertain, "that you really want to know these things?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Cas," said Dean. "I want to know you."

"It's just that, if you thought I was a monster before," said Castiel sadly, "you aren't going to be disabused of that notion now."

"Hey, hey, hey," said Dean, reaching across the table and taking Cas's hand, audience be damned, "don't listen to me, okay? I'm an asshole who John Winchester used as a mouthpiece. And like I said, there's no excuse, I ain't got one. I know I fucked up six ways to Sunday, and that it's not gonna change overnight. But Cas- "

Dean took a deep breath.

"You make me wanna change, okay? You make me wanna think I'm somethin' special."

Castiel gave him a soft look.

"You are, Dean," he said.

"I'm a dead-broke, working class, nobody drifter," said Dean. "I'm just some guy, Cas. Not like. A prince or something. Hell, I don't even know how you - like. What's _hot_ to an angel?"

"Your soul," said Castiel automatically.

"Huh?" asked Dean.

"Until I became human, it was all I could see," Castiel said. 

"What, you never saw my face until then?" asked Dean.

"Oh no, I could see it," said Castiel. "I rebuilt your body. But it was your soul, the brilliance of it that captivated me. And although it's a nice face, I am glad that I can see your soul again."

"Can you see them both now?"

"If I try," said Castiel. "But most of the time I don't bother."

"Uh," said Dean, at a loss for words. "Make a guy feel inadequate, why don't you."

"It's a very beautiful soul, Dean."

"So what, you've been hot for my soul -"

"Ever since I pulled you out of Hell, yes."

"Shit, Cas," said Dean, laughing. "That's - that was a long time ago."

"Not all that long ago to me."

"Guess not."

They sat together quietly for a while.

And it was easy, this soft cameraderie between them.

Instead of looking at the overwhelming entirety, maybe just day-to-day, bringing it down to the earth, was the way to proceed.

Dean knew that the impossible, unknowable thing that was Castiel would overwhelm him sometimes. But they'd always been able to make a go of it anyway, as comrades-in-arms, and then as friends.

This didn't have to be any different. It could be simple, and small, and a growing thing, like those little trees that start small but grow into banyans, old and wise with roots everywhere.

Dean wanted to make a real beginning.

So he started small.

Dean took a drink of his coffee, reached out, and took the angel's hand.

Maybe -

maybe things could work out after all.


	55. January 28th - New Orleans, Second Day - Then

Sam and Dean paid for a month in a kitchenette, the first time in Dean's life he'd actually made a commitment to something slightly longer-term. Relationships, towns, cities, whatever - they were all disposable to Dean.

He was uncomfortable with the idea of staying in one place for such a long time.

"We'll leave after Mardi Gras," Sam promised. "I just want to see what it's like. Sticking around."

New Orleans was fascinating. Dean had to give it that.

The Gothic romanticism of it all. The French Quarter. The graveyards.

It was beautiful, stunningly so in places, and filled with such a combination of cultures that Dean fell a little bit in love with the place every day.

They both found jobs at a local bar run by a tattooed woman named Sadie. She had black, curly hair and bright blue eyes, brown skin, and was both furiously hot and also way too old for Dean.

He was smitten from the start, of course. She was a badass, all muscle and loud laughter. He didn't stand a chance and he knew it, but he had plenty of fantasies about being manhandled by her when he watched her carry kegs up from the basement.

Despite Dean never saying a word about it to his brother, Sam thought all of this was absolutely hilarious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Orleans is a fantastic place. Architecturally beautiful, culturally fascinating, the food is off-the-charts delicious and inventive. The intricate iron-lace balconies are a consistent feature throughout the city.
> 
> Plus, if you've ever been into all that goth vampire stuff, it is the perfect town. Check out photos of the French Quarter online and you'll see what I mean.


	56. January 28th - New Orleans, Third Day, Later - Now

"So," said Sam, who had cautiously returned after a couple of hours.

He saw them tentatively holding hands, and he beamed.

"We good?" he asked.

Dean glared at him, and then looked at Cas and smiled.

"Yeah. We're good, Sam."

They walked back to the hotel together.

"Did you know Cas can't see our faces, just our souls?"

"I can see your faces," said Castiel. "I just _prefer_ your soul."

"Aw," said Dean, with an exaggerated frown. 

"Your soul is better-looking than your face."

Dean gaped at him.

"See, Sam," Castiel said airily. "You _can_ shut him up. You just have to know how."

Dean spluttered, but followed Castiel anyway.

***

In Dean's room, things had become a little awkward again.

"You know. I didn't think you could," Dean said eventually.

Castiel looked up at him from the window, where he had been watching the people pass beneath the balcony.

"Could what?"

"Love," said Dean. "Like we do, I mean. Romantic, sex, whatever you want to call it. Human."

"All that love humans know came from somewhere," said Castiel.

He paused.

"I could show you."

"Huh?" asked Dean.

"Show you what I feel for you, at least in part," said Castiel.

"Why only in part?"

"Because you would burn from the inside out otherwise."

Dean stared. He swallowed. His throat clicked.

"Got it bad, huh?" 

"You have no idea."

"Okay," said Dean. "I'll do it. Fuck me up."

Castiel smiled.

Dean knew that smile.

He swallowed again.

***

Dean lay on the bed, bare.

He felt oddly exposed, because he couldn't see Castiel at all, something about "needing access to his true form" for whatever was about to go down.

He felt strangely still, and not freaked out like he felt he should. He'd been way more freaked out by actually taking the step and going into a committed relationship with someone like Cas.

Someone he couldn't bear to lose, couldn't bear the thought of losing. It was huge, for him, and so new it scared him sometimes.

He had no idea what was about to go down but he wanted to know Castiel, all the parts of him.

Maybe he'd ask for a peek at his true form.

He really wanted to know what _Castiel_ looked like, beyond the hot human body he happened to possess.

He wondered how it would make him feel, seeing that reality for the first time.

Slowly, Dean noticed the room brightening a bit, and he wondered if the sun had come out from behind the clouds.

Then the light got brighter and brighter, until he was bathed in it, until it became a physical real thing warming every inch of his body, making him arch his back in the mess of rich white piled sheets on the bed.

" _Oh my -_ " he shouted, but the pleasure was so intense that it cut his voice off at the pass, and all he could do was writhe in the onslaught.

The sheer _love_ in the light suffused his entire being, until he could sense every lightning-bolt shape of each nerve, feel the cast of his bones, feel the blood pumping through each individual vein. He was dimly aware that he was hard, that he was helpless, that he was coming on his stomach, but it was truly nothing compared to bathing in the utter love and devotion and passion held within the warm light.

His skin turned gold in it, and he was hard again, and coming again, delight after delight after delight, an ongoing circle, as if he lived only to be worshiped and adored and given pleasure so intense that every atom cried out for it and was answered, every part of him taken apart and rebuilt again. The cycle of love-making, of orgasm, of the release, only to build and build again, around and around, until Dean was in something of a mobius strip of beauty and aching, neverending need, a desire so profound and so ancient that Dean was reduced to nothing but a creature of beautiful design, utterly and completely loved and wanted by an eternal and ethereal being outside human understanding.

Dean thought: this must be what it is to cease existing.

In their world, of heaven and hell and purgatory and ghosts and monsters, there was always a _somewhere else._

This -

this total and intense surrender -

made Dean understand what it meant to be truly one with another, and that his mind and heart, his soul, were beyond understanding Castiel's capacity for love.

Romantic, sexual, all-consuming love.

Dean was vaguely aware that he was a total mess, his body exhausted even as he invited more, more, more, high on the feeling, drunk on it, his entire self singing out praise and worship like a plucked harpstring:

_Castiel. Castiel. Castiel._


	57. End of January - Early February - New Orleans - Then

"Dean. Do you think we'll ever get out for good?"

Dean looked up from where he was cleaning the bar.

"What do you mean?"

"You know. Hunting. Leave the life behind forever. For real this time."

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"It's like trying to find absolution at the five-and-dime," Dean said. "Completely impossible, and not likely to happen in our lifetimes."

"Dean, we see the impossible every single day," said Sam. "I think the world is full of potential. We don't have to do what we've been told. We can be whoever we want to be."

***

Dean spent a very educational few days with Sadie learning the following:

He _really_ loved getting thrown around, didn't matter if it was a woman or a man.

He loved pain and bruises and all the things that had happened to him over the years in dirty truck stops started to make a little more sense.

He still really loved wearing panties, and the delicious _wrongness_ of it, even though there was nothing particularly wrong with it, it still felt subversive and daring.

He loved being obedient, following rules, getting praised.

In all of this, Sadie never judged him, just accepted him, said everything about him was fine, that he didn't need to worry about abstract concepts like being _less of a man_ , that those things were meaningless in the grand scheme.

That his desires were okay, they weren't bad, they were healthy and finding a healthy outlet for them was okay, too.

So of course, he fell stupidly, madly in love for the first time.

Eventually, he found that he needed to look for gainful employment elsewhere, because just being around Sadie made him hard and distracted.

He was just a hot piece of ass to her, he knew that. He didn't expect anything more.

But he knew that he couldn't stick it out, so he found another gig at a bar down the street.

The place had a shrine to Baron Samedi on the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A five-and-dime was the early predecessor to dollar stores, and carried all kinds of household items. They've gone by the wayside now.


	58. January 29th-31st - New Orleans, End of Month - Now

Dean stared at the ceiling.

He'd been there for hours.

When he'd first returned to himself, he'd expected the bed to be a disgusting mess, and with good reason.

But he'd been clean, the bed too.

He vaguely recalled a dream he'd had, before all this - something about love and light.

He also vaguely became aware that there was a knock at the door.

Blinking, he sat up a little, and grabbed a towel off the nightstand.

He hobbled to the door and opened it a crack.

Outside stood a hot blonde chick with dark red lipstick and a red dress.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

She twirled a finger in her hair and snapped her gum at him.

"Receptionist?" she reminded him. "You gave me your number. Said I should stop by."

Dean remembered acting like an idiot with the receptionist.

It seemed like a hundred years ago.

"Oh," he said. "About that. Sorry. I'm taken."

And he closed the door in her face.

***

Dean being Dean, he'd take any opportunity to _stow his crap_ with varying results.

After -

whatever had happened there, in that room -

Dean drew further into himself and also closer to Cas. He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, all of his life experience meaningless in the face of it, all of who he was completely derailed.

He was quiet, and he stared at Castiel.

He wondered if this was why Cas acted like that, too.

The rain was heavy, dripping off the wrought-iron lace border of the balcony as Castiel sat quietly on the bed.

"Bring 'em out, Cas," Dean finally said. "I wanna see 'em."

Cas gave Dean a shifty look.

"Whoa, hey," Dean said gently. "If that's, uh, not on the table anymore because of what I did - I get it."

"It's not - it's not that," said Cas, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Then what is it?"

Cas looked shifty again.

"Okay, c'mon," said Dean. "Don't be like that. Show me."

Castiel sighed.

The now-familiar loud _crack_ echoed in the room, and Castiel's dark wings were -

Mottled. Missing feathers in big chunks. No longer glossy and bright, but dull, almost gray.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, horrified, reaching out a hand to run down a flight feather.

Castiel's cheeks colored pink.

"My mate rejected me," he confessed. "This is what happens."

_Oh my God you asshole._

Dean stared at the damage done -

the first time he had ever seen the physical, _tangible_ result of the damage he had done to someone with his hurtful words and actions.

"Cas, I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't - I could _never -_ ah, I'm such a dick. I'm so sorry, Cas."

And Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, leaning his cheek against his back.

They sat together, looking out at the rain.

***

After that, Cas kept his wings hidden.

Dean didn't ask about them again.

He didn't feel like he had the right.

***

" _Dean_ ," when Cas says it, is reverent; reminds him of the way that long-ago young man said it, on a Tijuana beach, back when Dean couldn't accept anything like kindness.

Up until now, Dean would have said he felt the same.

But maybe - together,

he could start to believe it, the way Castiel said his name.

Maybe Castiel could believe he mattered, too.

They'd both fucked up so much before.

Maybe, together, they could find their way out of it, just as they had found their way out of hell.

***

Later, Castiel returned to the room, fully clothed and still in his trenchcoat. 

It was still raining outside, but darkness was coming on quickly.

"If you don't like what I'm doing, tell me and we'll stop," Castiel said.

Dean looked up from where he was sitting on the bed and nodded.

Cas's face, his eyes, his entire demeanor changed.

"Get over here, whore, and suck my cock."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"You fucking heard me. Move it."

Dean scrambled to the edge of the bed.

Cas unbuckled his pants and pulled his cock out. He was already hard.

He tapped his cock against Dean's lips.

"Open up," he said.

Dean obeyed.

Cas fed his cock into Dean's mouth on a long moan.

"Fuck," said Cas, and something about Cas _swearing_ like that was doing it for Dean. "You feel good. Your mouth was made for taking cock."

Dean went to touch himself and Cas batted his hand away.

"No," he said. "You're here for _my_ pleasure, whore. Fucking take my cock."

And he put his hands around Dean's head and started to fuck his face.

Dean whined, throat abused, helplessly turned on as he clutched at the bed and stared up at Cas, still in all his clothing, looking just like a businessman wanting a good hard fuck in the kinds of places where men would leave money at Dean's feet all those years ago.

Cas groaned and came down Dean's throat.

Dean loved feeling every kick of his cock in the wet heat of his mouth.

"Swallow," Castiel directed, and Dean did.

Cas pulled out, still staring down at him.

"Get on your hands and knees," he said. "Strip for me."

Dean stared up at him, still in shock.

Cas hauled off and hit him across the face.

Dean moaned as his cock twitched. Then he glanced up at Cas, horrified by what he might think, that Dean got off on stuff like this and had for many years.

But Cas just glowered down at him.

"Do as you're told," he growled, picking Dean up and throwing him forward.

Dean couldn't get out of his clothes fast enough, and also didn't get into position fast enough for Cas. Once he was naked, Castiel grabbed him and threw him onto the bed, forcing his head down with his hand against the back of Dean's neck.

"Color?" Cas asked softly.

"Green, green, fucking green," Dean moaned into the sheets.

"You're pathetic," said Castiel, still completely dressed, still hard, fucking a finger into Dean and making him yelp. "So fucking hard from being thrown around and having your face fucked. I'll give you what you need."

Roughly, Cas pulled his hips into position and sank into Dean with a shout.

It hurt, and Dean _loved_ it.

"Ah, fuck, yeah, Cas," he babbled, nonsense words spilling out of him. "Fucking - just like that, oh shit, shit - "

"Stop fucking moving," snapped Cas, grabbing him and holding him in place so hard Dean knew it was going to bruise. "You are here for me to use, not get pleasure for yourself. Come on my cock or not at all."

Dean just moaned again, thinking of the bruises that would litter his body afterward.

"Slut," said Cas, and Dean came on a sudden shout as Castiel buried himself inside and came, biting down hard on Dean's shoulder.

They collapsed together, Castiel still mostly dressed, Dean naked, and lay panting in the sheets.

Eventually, Cas pulled out, and Dean sighed at the loss.

"Was that - was that okay?" asked Castiel, tenderly cradling Dean's face.

Dean grinned.

"Hell yeah," he said. "I didn't think you'd be - uh. Into. That kind of stuff."

"I wasn't sure," he said. "But you - obedient, down on your knees for me - yes."

And he shivered.

"It's just that," Dean began. "All that beautiful light and love and warmth stuff, that's like - it's beyond, you know what I mean? And this is just so - "

"Human," supplied Castiel. "Both are good, in their own way."

"You think so?" asked Dean doubtfully. "Never really thought of my kinks like that, I guess."

Castiel shrugged.

"It's you," he said, as if that was the answer to everything in the world. 

Dean snuggled up to him.

"Sorry I'm into weird shit," he said.

Castiel regarded him very seriously.

"Dean," he said. "I _am_ weird shit." 

Dean laughed louder than he had in a very long time.

***

When he opened the door to find Sam there the next morning, Dean was in an excellent mood.

Cas wasn't there when he'd woken up, but Cas often had other business, so he wasn't concerned.

"Mornin', Sasquatch," he said brightly, when he opened his door to find his brother there, holding his laptop open.

"Okay," said Sam on a sigh, like he had come bearing bad news, "don't freak, okay? We'll get him back."

"What?" asked Dean, puzzled. He'd almost forgotten they were on a case. But then, there had been a lot of distractions. "Who?"

Sam just looked at him.

"Castiel. He's gone missing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has since come to my attention that apparently Jensen agrees that Dean probably turned tricks when he was younger. Except that he thinks it would've been older, rich women.
> 
> Which is just hilarious for multiple reasons. First, an example of a sheltered life. I often have to remind myself that these men have never lived on the road themselves, they 'are not doctors, but play one on TV', so to speak. Second, the sheer logistics of a drifter kid somehow having that kind of access to rich older ladies? Maybe if he was stationary, in a large city, but the legalities surrounding that kind of thing tend to mean they are sourced out of reputable escort companies and the like. Not some random street kid who happens to be pretty. Those are a dime a dozen nationwide. And the prettier they are, the more likely they are to rob or drug you for whatever reason. _Never trust a pretty face_ \- those guys are often the ultimate cons.
> 
> Additionally, I know what goes on at truck stops and believe me, there is a definite gender divide in who gets paid and who is paying. Hint: all genders get paid, men tend to do the paying. That's just the nature of the beast.


	59. Please Forgive Me, I Know Not What I Do

Castiel tossed back the whisky and set the glass on the sink.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Tired. Sad-eyed. Furrows beneath his eyes that reminded him of a basset hound. 

"You look old," the last parting words of an acquaintance.

He didn't make friends on the road. Too easy to lose.

He'd gotten to Appalachia a few days ago. Nothing had happened and he was ready to move on.

He'd been a hunter as long as he could remember.

_That's right. You've never been anything else._

Castiel stared at his reflection and willed himself to remember.

***

Dean watched the turn of the stars.

He had been an angel since the beginning of time.

Endless, earthless, above it all.

Time had come to confront the man with the golden soul, as it had been foretold eons ago.

_You've always been an angel. No reason to dig more deeply._

But something, something scratched at the back of his mind, like a prisoner trying to escape by slowly scratching through a wall over time.

_No. You're an angel, as you have always been._

Dean wondered at the voice, sometimes.

He didn't recognize it, but assumed it must be his own.

***

Cas stared into the mirror.

***

Dean stared down at the earth.

***

"Son of a bitch," they both said, at the same time, although they could not have known.


	60. And I Would Do Anything For Love

Dean found the old motel easily.

He arrived bare-chested, with his brown-and-white speckled wings spread wide.

This was mostly because Dean was kind of slutty and he'd heard so much about this particular soul that he wanted in on the action if possible.

Besides, humans didn't know anything about angels, or that arriving half-naked with wings spread (instead of the demure option of showing only their shadows) was equivalent on an angelic obscenity level to Sharon Stone uncrossing and recrossing her legs.

He also made sure his halo was visible, just to make the point.

***

Castiel sat at the edge of the creaky motel bed. It sagged in the middle. The comforter was white and embroidered, looking for all the world like somebody's grandma made it - and probably had.

In Appalachia, this place was pretty classy.

Castiel rubbed his face. The TV droned on in the background. He liked to keep it on because it drowned out the strange whispering voices he heard from time to time and didn't understand.

"Hiya."

Cas jumped, pulling out his gun and going into a defensive stance before he knew what he was about.

There was a half-naked man with wings and a halo standing in the corner of the room by the window, a cocky smirk on his face.

"Who are you?" asked Castiel.

The winged man started.

"Holy _shit_ ," he said. "Holy _shit._ "

Castiel paused.

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, I knew you were gonna be hot, but fucking _wow._ "

Castiel glanced down at himself.

Blue and black plaid shirt. Black henley. Dark blue stonewashed jeans. Black hiking boots.

He looked up again at the man, who had now crossed his arms in front of his chest and was giving Castiel a puzzled look.

"I thought your soul was supposed to be golden," he said. "It's more - I dunno - blue and silver."

They stared at each other from across the room, Cas with his gun still aimed directly at the man's heart.

"I asked you once," said Castiel evenly. "Don't make me ask you again. _Who are you?_ "

"Nice Catholic boy like you?" asked Dean. "You don't know?"

Dean sighed.

"Dean. I'm an Angel of the Lord."

Castiel stared.

"No such thing," he said.

"Thought you were Catholic," said Dean.

"Lapsed," said Castiel.

The television suddenly filled the silence that followed.

_"Did you ever notice how in the Bible, whenever God needed to punish someone, or make an example, or whenever God needed a killing, he sent an angel? Did you ever wonder what a creature like that must be like? A whole existence spent praising your God, but always with one wing dipped in blood. Would you ever really want to see an angel?"_

"Wow, rude," said Dean, waving a hand. The television snapped off.

Suddenly, his arms were full of Castiel.

"Whoa, hey, uh, what," Dean stammered. He felt his halo go crooked as Castiel pushed him up against the wall, turned his face into Dean's neck, and slowly inhaled.

" _That first bite of hot sweetcorn slathered in warm butter and salt, bursting in your mouth...Indian frybread...funnel cake coated in powdered sugar at the county fair...riding the wind of the summer with the windows rolled down..._ "

Castiel stood back.

"Essence of summertime," he said. "A Midwestern working class angel."

"Uh," said Dean, unbalanced not only by Castiel's sudden closeness but by the things he was saying. "How d'you figure?"

Castiel shrugged delicately.

"I'm psychic," he said sadly. "Or something like it. My family kicked me out. I became a hunter because I - I knew what was out there in the dark."

He sighed. He lifted the flannel shirt to reveal a holster beneath it and he secured his gun.

"They said I must've come off the line with a crack in my chassis."

**crack in my chassis**

Those words seemed to hang strangely in the air, momentarily causing the world to spin crazily on its axis.

"It's funny," said Dean, now sobered by this meeting. "I, uh. Sensed stuff from you, too."

_Comfort. Hot chocolate on a snowy day, with extra marshmallows and whipped cream. Warm blankets. Cuddling by the fireplace. The joys and stark beauty of winter._

"Dean," said Castiel, bringing him out of his reverie. "I'll accept that you're an angel, for the time being. What are you doing here?"

There was a war going on inside Dean's head. 

One option was to lay out Heaven's mission for him, for them, for everyone.

One option was to hedge.

Dean was too intrigued by this man and his winter-warm soul to wonder if they'd maybe gotten the wrong guy.

So he chose the second option.

 _You're forgetting something **very** important, _said that little itch of a thought at the back of his mind.

_Don't let him out of your sight!_

"Long story," said Dean. "Mind if I tag along?"

Castiel shrugged.

"I suppose not," he said. "I could use the company. I've been volunteering, teaching some of the local people how to read and write."

Dean was taken aback.

"I thought you were a hunter."

"I am."

"Then don't you have better things to do?"

"Are there better things to do?" asked Castiel. "There's nothing to hunt, so I may as well make myself useful."

And in saying so, Castiel grabbed his black peacoat and shrugged it on.

Dean followed him outside, listening to the crunch and creak of snow beneath his heavy boots.

"Aren't you cold?" asked Castiel, glancing at Dean's outfit.

"I don't get cold."

"Well, I'd get rid of the wings and put some clothes on if you don't want to cause a scandal around here."

"Gotcha," said Dean, and wriggled his nose. He was wearing a sweater and the wings were gone.

Castiel raised an eyebrow.

Dean found this extremely captivating for some reason.

" _Bewitched_?" asked Castiel. "Really?"

"It was a good show," Dean mumbled to himself, and followed Castiel's lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appalachia is one of the poorest parts of the United States. Inequality, social stratification, and the existence of an elite class means that the region still suffers from extreme poverty. Electricity and plumbing was very late in arriving, and many households still don't have it. 20 percent of the residents don't have telephones. Living barefoot is common and the region also has problems with illiteracy, somewhat ameliorated by an initiative started by Dolly Parton, who is from the area. 
> 
> Appalachian people are also varied, as the region is vast, and different subsets and cultures exist within it. Appalachian people on the whole tend to be smarter, tougher, more hardworking, and a lot more fun than the general stereotypes give them credit for. Cas is in the Blue Ridge Mountains, which form a part of southern Appalachia in Tennessee. The major roads that drifters normally would use tend to go around these regions and not feed into them, contributing to their economic decline. For Cas to be where he is, he had to go out of his way on purpose.
> 
> Appalachia is also an incredible source of folklore, moonshine, rebellion, and the American musical descendants of Scottish and Irish folk, as this is the cultural heritage of the area. The region is a mix of American Scots-Irish, African American, and Cherokee people. Historically, the tri-racial people that emerged from these groups were called Melungeons, a word that was formerly considered derogatory but has recently been proudly reclaimed.
> 
> This part of the story is dedicated to an Appalachian friend of mine. You'll always be the Marilyn to my James Dean. <3


	61. Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word

When they returned to the motel, Dean felt the absolute need to be as close as possible to Castiel.

While he was cooking on the motel kitchenette's stove, Dean hovered near his shoulder, wanting to be closer to him, not knowing why.

_Mint chocolate. Both warm and cold._

_Like..._

_**home.** _

"Dean," said Castiel softly. "Personal space?"

Dean nodded, backing up, and then dragging a chair over to watch Castiel work as he perched on it.

"How do you know about _Bewitched?_ " Castiel asked, as he seasoned the meat in the pan.

_Because I grew up with my little brother in motels across the country and Nick at Nite was on most of the time._

Dean startled at the thought. It had come out of absolutely nowhere.

"I'm an angel," he said instead. "I know about everything."

"Okay," said Castiel, turning around with a little bit of the meat on a fork. "Try this."

Dean obediently opened his mouth and closed it around the food.

He looked up at Castiel from under his lashes.

Castiel stared at his lips.

Dean moaned.

"This is fucking _awesome_ ," he said.

Castiel smiled slightly.

And in the low light from above the stove, they just kept staring at each other.

"Cas, I - " Dean began, feeling wrong-footed and out of his element as Castiel leaned in.

Dean had never felt like this, in centuries of conquest, like someone could knock him over with a feather.

His entire universe zeroed in on Castiel's sinful mouth, longing to taste that mint-chocolate-whisky he knew clung there.

Someone kicked the door down.

***

"Whoa, what the hell?!" Dean shouted, more out of fury at being cockblocked than anything.

Castiel was standing in front of Dean with his gun out as a tall man darkened the doorway.

"I drove here for a _day straight_ and you guys are just, what? Having some private time?"

Dean drew himself up defensively.

"Excuse me?" he said. "Who the hell are you?"

"Very funny, Dean," said the man. 

"How do you know my name?" asked Dean, evaluating him. "Man, you're _huge._ Do you have, like, a glandular problem or something?"

Castiel shushed him.

"State your business," he said.

"Are you - " the man sighed.

He lowered his gun and stroked a hand through his long hair.

"I'm Dean's brother, Sam?" he tried. "What are you guys doing, dressing up as each other? I don't really want in on your weird roleplay kinks. I'll remind you that monsters are still killing drifters out there, it's not really the time for games."

"You have a brother?" asked Castiel, turning to Dean.

"Only the angelic host," said Dean.

Now the man - Sam - was gaping at them. He looked _hurt._

"Oh my God," he said. "Is this some kind of spell or something?"

Sam rubbed his face.

"Okay," he said. " _You're_ the angel. _Castiel._ Sounds like an angel name, right?"

Castiel stared at him.

"And Dean," sighed Sam. "You're my dumbass drifter brother. C'mon. Remember."

Sam seemed to steel himself.

"Poughkeepsie," he said -

and the world fell in.

***

_"We gotta have something to use, to communicate if things have gone south and it's time to cut and run," Sam had said after a long shift at Sadie's._

_Dean thought of the worst place he'd ever been._

_There had been no monsters there._

_There had been plenty of monsters._

_"Poughkeepsie," he said, in a miserable tone that made Sam give him a questioning look._

_But Sam accepted it all the same._

***

"Holy shit, how the hell did that happen?" asked Dean, as he trailed Sam out to the Impala in the parking lot.

Castiel was right behind them, his face pinched, lost in thought.

"I don't know," said Sam. "But whatever's behind all this is a lot more powerful than we'd assumed. First, we thought it was a single killer. Then we find out it's monsters looking for payback. Then you guys vanish, and they were capable of convincing you both that you were the opposite of your realities as well as getting rid of your memories? What kind of creature can do any of those things?"

They got into the car, Castiel in the backseat.

Dean twisted around.

"You hear any of that?" he asked. "Got any ideas?"

"Hmm?" asked Castiel. "Apologies, I wasn't listening."

"Something the matter?" asked Dean.

"I am contemplating," Castiel stated, "your wings. It is unfortunate that I wasn't able to - fully appreciate them."

And he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Dean gave him a puzzled look and then grinned.

"That doin' it for you?" he purred.

"No!!" Sam shouted. "Stop it right now, damn it!"

"Apologies, Sam," muttered Castiel, but the faraway look in his eyes told Dean everything he needed to know.

"Funny, how much faster we moved on this whole thing while the roles were reversed," Dean commented. "I wonder why."

"Look," said Sam. "Turn around and face forward because we need to have a serious conversation and I cannot breathe with all the sexual tension in this car."

"It's not exactly _tension_ anymore, Sam, it's - "

"Okay!" Sam barked, but Dean reluctantly turned around. "Anyway. What do you want to do? I hightailed it out of New Orleans and I don't see a reason to go back."

"Any drifters been killed since?"

"One," said Sam.

"Really."

"You're not going to like it."

"Drifters are dying, Sam, of course I'm not going to like it."

"It happened in New York City."

Dean gave him a horrified look.

"What?"

"Yeah," said Sam. "So if you want to investigate, that's where we've gotta go."

Dean glanced at Castiel, who was still apparently mentally undressing him or worse.

He was no help.

"Then I guess that's where we gotta go."


	62. Objects in the Rearview Mirror May Appear Closer Than They Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: EXTREME CHILD ABUSE REFERENCED IN THIS CHAPTER

"You gonna be okay?"

Dean regarded Sam over the top of his takeout coffee cup as they sat outside at a picnic table together. They were at some kind of frou-frou hipster café on the way up the coast, and it had just snowed.

Sam didn't know, was the thing.

Not really.

But Dean remembered those huge, dark eyes - 

Sam watched.

Always.

Picked up on shit he really shouldn't have, no matter how much Dean crammed it down.

"Yeah, I think so," said Dean gruffly, taking a sip of his coffee.

Cas was off communing with nature or something. He seemed very interested in a large oak tree some way off in the distance. 

Dean watched him with a soft smile on his face.

"We're only going to Italian Harlem," Sam said. "We don't need to go - anywhere - near there. Okay?"

Dean nodded. Thing was, NYC wasn't really the problem. He'd never been fond of big cities, especially ones like New York, but he did love the food.

So the city wasn't the issue in and of itself.

Anything related to New York was the problem. 

Strange, what kinds of things triggered those horrified moments in the darkness, where Dean was yelling and Cas had to come and find his weak loser ass.

"You want to tell me what happened in Poughkeepsie?" Sam asked, just as he had for many, many years.

Dean usually deflected, pretended not to hear him, macho-blustered his way out of the conversation, once even conveniently tripped in order to avoid having it.

But for some reason, today was different.

"Dad sent me," he said on a rushed exhale, "to juvie."

"Really? What for?" asked Sam.

"Wasn't the first time or the only time," Dean muttered. "Just the worst time."

He waited for Sam to continue the interrogation but he just sat there and _watched._

"The, uh," Dean started. "Guards. They."

Dean could _feel_ his face tightening.

"We were _kids_ ," he said, despondent.

"Oh my God," said Sam faintly. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't know."

"The thing is," said Dean, "I mean - it was _me,_ right? Enough training, kills under my belt, whatever. The other kids, same thing - obviously not monsters, but they'd been in fights, they'd killed people. And."

Dean stared off into the distance.

"Some of those kids were less than five years old," he said in a dead voice.

He picked at the styrofoam cup.

"Did - did you," Sam started, as if he was afraid to ask the question.

He breathed through his nose.

"Did it happen to you," Sam asked. "Did the guards - "

"Yeah," Dean confirmed, and all the color went out of Sam's face. "But you know what? That wasn't the worst thing, Sam. The worst thing was when _it happened to the other kids and I couldn't stop it!_ "

His voice rang out louder than he'd expected, to the point that Cas even turned around to look in their direction. Dean could feel his heart banging hard against his ribcage and realized belatedly that he needed to calm the fuck down before he had a fucking flashback outside the hipster paradise that was this café.

He closed his eyes, immediately realized why that was a mistake as the hollow corridor to the past opened right in front of him like a gulf, washing over him with the sounds, the _feeling,_ the _smell -_

god, the fucking _smell_ of that cleaning liquid they used -

He choked, and the world around him seemed to diminish and vanish -

_you never left, you've always been here_

_with us_

"Dean?" Sam's voice cut through it all, grounding him.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Yeah, I'm - I'm here, Sammy."

He kept his eye on his brother, reassuring himself that it was here and now and he was drinking some kind of concoction with too much sugar and Castiel was marching back towards them in his peripheral vision, trenchcoat swirling, and Dean just kept reminding himself:

_You are on the coast. You are with your brother and your angel. Here and now. Here and now._

"Anyway," said Dean. "That's why the memories of Hell didn't - really. Anyway."

He coughed, and then did it again, as it seemed to help keep him in place.

"Amazing, what people will do to kids, or anybody vulnerable, when they think nobody else can see them," Dean said. "Even worse, when they think they're doing _the right thing,_ or _doing what's best for you._ "

He shivered with revulsion.

"I killed a man, Sam," he said flatly. "He wasn't a monster - not the kind that we hunt. But - it was _kids,_ Sam. And he was more a monster than the - than any werewolf or rugaru we've killed along the way."

And just like that, the overbearing sense of guilt fell from Dean's shoulders, seeing Sam give him one of the saddest looks he'd ever seen.

"I didn't know," he kept saying. "I didn't know."

"'Sokay, Sam," said Dean. "You weren't meant to."

"Dean, are you all right?" Castiel demanded, suddenly pulling his face to the side so he could examine it. "I sensed distress."

He started smoothing over Dean's hair and getting tangled up as Dean finally extricated himself and pulled Cas into a sitting position. He refused to move any further away and sat almost _on_ him.

"I'm fine, Cas," he said. "Just talking to Sam about some things from our past."

But it was Sam, now, who looked like he needed a hug.

"Just wanted you to know," muttered Dean into his coffee cup, as he took another sip. "So you understand what my problem is, as far as the city is concerned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who have survived these kinds of places: just know that you are not alone. <3


	63. When You Say Nothing At All

"So if you ever wondered why I became a drifter, a _natural_ as you call it," Dean murmured, "freedom is the most important thing, Sam. Freedom and free will."

"Gotcha," said Sam, but he still looked sadder than Dean had ever seen him.

***

They managed to get the Impala parked and then went into the city on foot. Cars were something of a handicap in New York.

Italian Harlem, along with Little Italy, was a part of the city given over to Italian immigrants. 

They stayed in a little place with the usual kitchenettes, pretty cramped because everything in New York is cramped if you don't have the money for space.

They had a meeting scheduled for the following morning, interviewing the witnesses.

For the evening, they were on their own.

Sam had gone to the New York Public Library, because he was just that kind of nerd.

Dean had other plans.

Cas opened the door to the room, and Dean was waiting.

He stood behind the table, candlelight softly illuminating the room.

"Hi, Cas," said Dean.

"Is this for me?" asked Castiel in an awed voice, as if he wasn't an ancient warrior of Heaven.

As if the very act of cooking a candlelight dinner was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.

"I, uh, wanted you to try some of my favorite foods," said Dean. "It's Velveeta shells and cheese and jalapeno poppers."

"It smells wonderful," said Cas, taking a seat.

"I know it ain't fancy," Dean said, "but this was some high-class stuff to me for years. This was the stuff you got when you were flush with cash and could buy the name brand."

"I look forward to trying it," said Castiel.

"Cas," said Dean, a little hesitant. "I learned a little more about you, during my time as an angel."

Cas's eyes darkened, and Dean knew he was thinking about the wings again.

"And I wanted to do right by you," Dean continued. "So, please consider this my courtship."

Castiel looked up at Dean, stunned.

"The rocks -"

"They're powerful rocks, Cas," said Dean. "Two of the most awesome women I've ever known told me so. You deserve them, and so much more. Consider them the official beginning of this courtship."

"But you already have me," said Castiel, slightly confused.

"Just let me do this, Cas," said Dean, gently picking up his hand and kissing the back of his knuckles. "Please."

Cas looked up at him in the candlelight.

Dean decided there and then that he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life.

The need for it almost overwhelmed him.

"All right."

***

Dean was laughing in that way only Castiel ever could make him.

"And the last thing Sam does is get down on his knee to propose to the bartender and then fell off the dock," Dean was saying. "I had to go rescue him. Never let him drink more than five beers at a waterfront bar again. It was fucking _freezing,_ man!"

The plates were empty, and had been for a while. Dean _adored_ seeing Castiel clean his plate with all evidence of enjoyment. 

"Oh, shit, wait!" Dean said, pushing out the chair and getting to his feet. "I almost forgot. Dessert!"

He went to the tiny freezer and pulled out a little dish.

"Aw. It's kind of glop," he muttered. "Sorry, Cas. Guess you need a bigger freezer for this stuff."

"I'm sure it's wonderful," said Castiel.

"Yeah, you say that now, but you won't know what it was _supposed_ to taste like," said Dean, faintly disappointed and a little embarrassed that he didn't choose something a little more suited to their environment.

"Here," said Castiel gently. "Let me."

He took the dish from Dean, and lifted some of the food onto a fork.

"Open up."

Dean stared at Cas for a moment.

Then he got down on his knees beside him, putting his hands on Castiel's thighs, and wrapped his tongue around the tines of the fork.

"Good?" asked Castiel, whose voice rumbled low and washed across Dean's skin.

The whipped cream, pistacio pudding, and crackers were a little soft, but just as delicious as Dean remembered.

"Yes," said Dean quietly.

"You're wonderful, Dean," said Castiel. "Perfect. You take care of everyone so well. Let me take care of you."

And he kept alternating bites between himself and Dean, until Dean was hazy with it, his whole world just narrowed down to Castiel and himself in the little room together.

"Strip and go lie down on the bed."

Dean did as he was told, feeling a little love-drunk.

His worry began to ramp up a notch.

"Cas, I - I'm sorry about how this all happened," said Dean. "I wish - I could've done something more romantic, less chickenshit, less - _weird_ , I shouldn't have been watching you like I did, I - "

"Shh, Dean," said Castiel, prowling closer to Dean as he shucked off his trenchcoat, his jacket, loosened his tie. "We are not like other people. I forgive you. Besides - I knew the entire time."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," said Castiel. "I can sense longing. I can hear any prayer directed toward me. And Dean - whatever you want to do, however you want to do it - rough or gentle or _weird,_ as you put it - I want that, too. I want everything. All of you, Dean. Whatever you're willing to give."

Dean didn't know what to say to that, so he changed tack.

"I had a dream," said Dean, "it was all - light and love. Way before this started. Did you - "

Now the blush was high on Castiel's cheeks.

"You're not the only one who was watching."

"Son of a bitch," said Dean in a soft whisper.

"Don't move," said Castiel, crawling over him, his presence a heavy, reassuring weight on top of Dean. "Don't make a sound. Can you do that for me, Dean?"

Dean nodded.

"Let me worship you," Castiel said, and took Dean's cock into his mouth.

Dean's back arched, he caught a shout at the front of his throat just before it escaped, and he stared down at Castiel, openmouthed.

He was never going to get used to seeing that.

Castiel pulled off and moved up Dean's body.

"You're good," he said. "You're a good man, Dean."

Dean felt a pathetic whine rising in him but he couldn't say anything, couldn't argue, could only let Castiel do as he would.

"Good boy," Castiel spoke against his skin, kissing him.

And Castiel just kept kissing him, everywhere. 

Nothing rough about it, just praise and kissing.

At first, it was strange, and then Dean felt it building and building inside himself as tears slipped from his eyes down his temples and into his hair.

"Come for me," whispered Castiel -

and Dean, impossibly, on a deep sudden breath -

arched against him and came untouched.

"Oh, Dean," sighed Castiel. "You're so beautiful. So good for me."

Dean just stared at him, and Castiel smiled.

"Aren't you going to -"

"No, not this time," said Castiel. "This was enough."

And he drew Dean into his arms in the bed.

Dean fell asleep listening to the sound of the angel's heartbeat and his slow, soft breathing, reminding him that Castiel was there and alive and beside him.


	64. Rolling Like Thunder

As it turned out, their witness in Italian Harlem was not human.

Isabella had been haunting this particular building for several decades, and had somehow not gone vengeful. But she had seen everything, and by all accounts was a reliable witness and, of all things, a friendly ghost.

She received them in the living room of the apartment where she had died, smiling brightly.

"We're really interrogating a ghost," said Dean flatly.

" _Mi scusi, signore,_ but ghosts have a better grasp on reality than - _oh my God is that Castiel._ "

Dean and Sam paused.

They gave Cas a sidelong look.

He had the decency to look a little embarrassed about it.

"Uh," said Dean. "Yeah?"

" _Wow,_ I've heard so much about you," she said, giggling and flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You're even more handsome in person."

"Okay, okay, let's get back on track here," said Dean, standing in between Isabella and Cas.

She laughed again, a little snort.

"You can't really block me from seeing him, you know," she said, and looked up beyond Cas's head and sighed.

"What the - what's going on here?" asked Sam.

"When I was alive - well, we humans have such limited capacity," said Isabella.

"Look, lady, I know his vessel's hot, but that's - "

"His _vessel?_ " she said with disdain. "Oh, he's all right. But it's _Castiel -_ I mean, you know what a big deal he is in the supernatural world, right?"

"Huh?" asked Dean. "How do you mean?"

"Put it this way," she said. "If they had magazines, Castiel would be in the _50 Sexiest Creatures_ issue and he would be number one. Not just my opinion, either. He's the hottest property there is."

Dean looked over his shoulder at Castiel.

"Did you know about this?" he demanded.

Castiel looked extremely squirrelly.

"It might have," he said evenly, "been drawn to my attention once or twice."

"Anyway," said Isabella. "Who the hell are you guys, then?"

"Sam and Dean Winchester," said Dean, deciding that subterfuge was unnecessary with a ghost.

Isabella clapped a hand over her mouth.

"You lucky duck!" she said. " _You're_ the one who caught Castiel's eye?! We're hoping for wedding bells!"

She smiled brightly and then looked suddenly horrified.

"What?" asked Sam. "What is it?"

"Well, I love being in on the gossip," she said. "But that drifter that was killed here? I saw them, before they went into the light."

"And? Did they say anything?"

"Yeah," she said. "Something about how _it's all Dean Winchester's fault_."

Dean froze.

He felt everything in him draining away.

"What," he said gruffly. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

Isabella shrugged.

"Well, at the time I assumed it was jealousy," she said. "You bagged _Castiel,_ okay? He's famous. Think of him as like...the Harrison Ford of our world. But then, this guy was human. So. No idea."

"Thank you," said Sam. "You've been very helpful."

"Anytime," said Isabella. "But I wonder -"

"What now?"

She gave Castiel a shy smile.

"Would you mind signing something for me?" she asked. "I'd ask for a picture, but, you know."

Cas signed his Enochian sigil on a piece of paper and left it on the dresser.

" _Grazie,_ I can't believe I got to meet you," she said. " _Ciao._ "

***

Outside, Dean gave Cas the hard side-eye.

"We gonna need to invest in some douchebag sunglasses for you, movie star?" he asked.

"My apologies," Castiel said. "I didn't know that was going to happen."

But no matter how much he was enjoying this ribbing of Castiel,

inside, the turmoil that Dean felt from Isabella's words -

_it's all Dean Winchester's fault._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just think it's very funny that despite Mr. Handsome Soul over here, it's Original Recipe Castiel that gets called sexy the most often by the highest number of characters. 
> 
> Additionally, I've begun to realize that one of my problems with the move to the bunker is that it erased drifter representation as well. The constant harping by fans about how much happier it made them now that the guys were "settled" reminds me of way too many conversations I've had with family that constantly ask when I'm going to do that and completely ignoring my wishes, my reality, my own happiness. Seems like the show has a lot of problems with erasure of many different kinds.


	65. Under the Covers

"Sam, did you hear that I'm dating the hottest commodity in the supernatural world?"

Sam gave him a world-weary sigh. Dean grinned brightly.

"Yes, I did hear that."

They were sitting at a restaurant with red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Dean had ordered for them, and they were currently looking at three enormous plates of bolognese topped with gigantic meatballs.

"I don't think this is strictly Italian," said Castiel, ignoring Dean's proud grin.

"Oh, that's because this is Italian-American food," Sam began.

"Yeah listen to Sam, he loves talking about this stuff."

"Dean - "

"What? It was a sincere compliment. You're brilliant."

"And you're in a good mood."

"Hell yeah I am, I always wanted to date a supermodel."

Sam sighed again.

Dean wondered if there was something wrong with his respiratory system.

"Anyway," said Sam tersely, "13 million Italians, mostly from the rural south of the country, emigrated at the end of the 1800s and the early 1900s, that was the largest single migration in history. Most of them ended up on the east coast of the United States and of South America. When the poor southern Italians arrived in America, they were able to afford all the rich food that the northern Italians ate. Stuff like butter, sugar, cream."

"And...large meatballs."

"Well, meat, but yeah," said Sam, digging in. "And it's delicious."

"I thought you were usually the healthy eater, Sam."

"Usually, yeah," said Sam with his mouth full. "But oh my God, Cas. You gotta try this."

"First," said Dean, opening the parmesan container, "you absolutely drown it in cheese."

He scooped the powdered cheese out with a spoon and covered his plate with it.

"Why?" asked Castiel.

"Remember what I told you about food?"

"Eat all of it, as much as you can, because you never know when you're going to eat next," Castiel recited dutifully.

"That's right," said Dean. He twirled some spaghetti on his fork and took a bite.

He moaned, and Castiel gave him a startled look laced with intrigue.

"You guys better not reenact Lady and the Tramp," groused Sam.

Castiel tried a bite of his food and seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

"So, this is Italian Harlem," Sam said, because now he had warmed to his topic and didn't want to let it go. "Down the street is Spanish Harlem. There are Black neighborhoods here as well. All these places sprung up and people settled here from all over the world. Some of the best food in New York is in Harlem."

"It is gratifying to think they pulled themselves up out of poverty."

"Yeah, but then a lot of people moved out to the suburbs and abandoned the place," said Sam. "Little Italy used to be a lot bigger than it is now. But there were a lot of circumstances that drove wedges between the different groups of poor people. It happened all over America."

"Best way to keep the poor down is keep 'em fighting each other," said Dean. "Nobody's gonna look at what the bastard billionaires are doing if the poor keep killing each other."

"That sounds unfortunate," said Castiel.

"It is," said Sam. "It may not be how racism ends, but it sure as hell is how it starts."

"It's funny you should say that," said a new voice.

The three of them looked up from their meal to see an unfamiliar woman in a business suit standing there in front of them.

"Excuse me?" asked Dean. "Do we know you?"

"Hael," said Castiel sourly. "What can we do for you?"

Hael grinned without humor.

"Believe me," she said. "You've done enough. I'm here with a message."

"Spit it out," said Dean. "I ain't a fan of angels."

Hael gave him a lingering look, and then looked at Castiel.

"Present company excluded," Dean said.

"You may be wondering," said Hael, "why the monsters have taken up arms against you."

Now she had their attention.

"Okay," said Sam. "And you're, what? The company bulletin?"

"You may have noticed that you haven't had a single _hunt,_ as you call them," she said, and Dean was personally offended by her use of airquotes because that was _a Cas thing_ in his mind.

Then he thought back over the last month or so.

"It has been pretty quiet," admitted Sam. "Apart from the drifters dying. Do you know anything about that?"

"That's what my message is about," she said primly. "We disapprove of your - _dalliances,_ Castiel."

"Yeah, we heard you loud and clear, sister," Dean rolled his eyes. "Sorry, but this fine piece of ass is mine."

She gave him a horrified look.

"You think this is because of _jealousy?_ " she demanded.

Dean squeezed Castiel's knee.

"From what I hear tell, Cas is the shit," said Dean. "I mean, I already knew that, but - "

" _Dean Winchester, you have caused angelic genocide!"_ Hael roared at him.

Other diners were turning to look at them.

"Uh," said Dean. "What?"

"You care so much about your brother that you'll do anything to save him, yes?" she said, in a quiet, fierce whisper.

"Hell yeah."

"Conversely, ever since Castiel pulled you out of Hell, he has murdered so many of our kind that there are almost no angels left!" said Hael. "Heaven is failing."

"Ain't my problem," said Dean, trying for nonchalance and missing by a mile.

"That's just it," she snarled. "You won't take responsibility? We have to enjoy a front-row seat to your debasement of Castiel?"

"Pretty sure Castiel enjoys being debased -"

"Shut your disgusting mouth," she said. "And your dismissal of his courtship! Unbelievable. We even tried a brief role reversal, so that you could understand the depths of depravity into which Castiel sank, but no! The pining started almost immediately. Castiel has a history of rebellion, but nothing quite like this - and to see you throw his offer in his face the way you did!"

"Yeah, yeah, Cas is a prince, I should be so lucky, believe me, I get it," said Dean. "Get to the point, lady."

"For what you have done to the angelic host," she said, "we will kill every drifter we come across. And then every hobo. And we can travel in time. We can kill the Chinese who worked on the railroad across this country. We'll kill the men who pounded the Golden Spike into the ground. We will take this entire nation apart."

"What the fuck," whispered Dean.

"We thought, at first, of just indiscriminately killing humans, just as Castiel has killed his siblings," said Hael. "Except you don't really care about humans in general, do you? Collateral damage. But what you _do_ care about is drifters, because you _are_ one. And hobos, and the other people who did the hard work to make this nation. All the way back in time, Dean Winchester, we can do it all."

"You could go back and destroy a few other people who caused some genocides in the past," Dean suggested, but shrank back when she slammed her fists on the table and leaned in.

"You give up Castiel," she hissed, "and you _never_ speak of him again, you _never_ pray to him again, you certainly don't cover him with your _filth_ again, and we'll stop. We mobilized the entire nation against you. Every monster is targeting drifters now, hobos, anyone who does the day-labor work that causes this country to run. And you know what? We're going to go back in time and erase every person that ever had the misfortune to come into contact with you, just so you know how it feels to be an angel whose species is nearly wiped out!"

"Look, lady," Sam said, into the breach as Dean just stared at her blankly. "You can't help who you fall in love with. This isn't Dean's fault! And I'm sorry about all the angels, sorry about your war, sorry about everything. But you know what? I've had one of you riding around inside me - "

"Do _not_ sully our name with Lucifer's," she snapped.

"Still an angel," said Sam. "And _all of you_ were willing to destroy the universe over a stupid family argument! So I'm not sure anyone here can claim the high ground."

"Doesn't matter," said Hael. "You won't be needing to hunt. The monsters will find you. But only _after_ they've killed every other drifter they can find. No point in killing you before you've had the time to truly appreciate your suffering."

"We'll stop you," Dean finally managed to say.

"How?" asked Hael. "You're just a man."

She gave one last disdainful glance between him and Castiel.

Then she shook her head in pity, and vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italian Americans suffered a great deal of prejudice, which was the reason for neighborhoods like Italian Harlem and Little Italy. Italians were lynched in New Orleans and put into interment camps during World War II. Italian history, culture, and cuisine has shaped the American landscape in many ways.
> 
> The First TransContinental Railway was worked on by various different people, most notably the labor exploitation of the Chinese, called 'Celestials' at the time, along with the Irish. The railroad also contributed to the elimination of bison and proved disastrous for the Native American peoples of multiple different tribes. The railroad was seen as a sign of American progress and ingenuity at the time. The tracks were built starting from the West Coast on side and from Omaha on the other in order to meet in the middle. In the center of the country, the Golden Spike was driven into the ground where the tracks finally met in Promontory, Utah. The Golden Spike is now on display at Stanford University.


	66. I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues

This time, when they came together, it was with a strange and desperate defiance.

"I wanna see you," Dean said on a soft growl, pinning Castiel against the door of their hotel room. "The _real_ you, the one they're always talkin' about. Rings and eyes and wings, man."

"Dean, I'd hurt you."

"Maybe I want you to hurt me."

"I don't - "

Dean shoved Castiel, hard. There was a fire lit in Castiel's eyes, that dim and distant herald of grace. He shoved back -

and then they were fighting, trading punches, back and forth across the room.

Exhilirated, turned on beyond belief, Dean felt a bruise raising on his cheek and tasted blood in his mouth and then they were kissing, hard and fast and pure.

"Get on the bed," Dean growled. "Get on the fucking bed right the fuck now."

Castiel was stripping with an urgency that nearly made him tear his clothing.

Dean grabbed a chair and sat down in it.

"Fucking show off for me, angel," Dean said. "C'mon. Do it. I know you loved it when I was watching you, I wanna watch you again."

"Dean," groaned Castiel, as if it were the only word he knew.

He was hard, and bruised, and his lips were kiss-bitten, and he stared at Dean with a wild look that arrowed through him -

that he was in this room with a wild animal, barely tamed -

that this creature could destroy him with a mere thought, and here Dean was, making demands.

Dean was so fucking hard he couldn't believe it.

Guess that said everything he ever needed to know about himself.

He was pleased to see that Cas was hard too, his cock jutting out from his body, leaking precome.

"So fucking eager," he said. "The wings. The fucking _wings,_ Cas, get 'em out. Now."

Dean unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out, caressing it, spreading his legs, obscene.

Here, in this little broken-down hotel room, an angel was at his mercy.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth, trying to keep control. He didn't want this to be over too quickly.

There was a _crack,_ and the great black wings filled the room, casting enormous shadows on the wall.

"Tell me what you thought about," Dean directed. "When you were doing this before. Fucking touch yourself, Cas. Do it. And tell me."

Castiel went for the wings first, surprising Dean a little.

But then, those were really _him._

"I - I," stuttered Castiel, as he buried his fingers in the feathers. "Thought of you on your knees fo - for me."

"Yeah?" asked Dean, with an experimental tug at his cock.

"Yeah," sighed Castiel. "Looking up at me from beneath your lashes, wor - _worshiping me - ah! fuck!_ "

And Dean watched as a solitary trail of oil trickled down Castiel's back from the wing joint.

His eyes were fastened to it, watching it as it slid into the little bowl of the dimple above Castiel's ass cheek, and dripped further along his skin.

"That what you wanted, huh, angel?" Dean murmured, fucking up into his fist now. "Wanted to see me at your mercy, bowing down to you, giving you the respect you deserve? Obedient. Subservient. _Submissive._ "

"Yes," moaned Castiel, now with a hand around his cock. "Yes, Dean."

"Dirty little angel," said Dean. "I'd do it, you know. I'd - I'd fuckin' take your cock in my mouth, suck on the tip, so fuckin' sweet, holy shit - angel, Cas, _Cas,_ fuck! An' then I'd let you do anything you wanted - fuck my mouth, then - then fuckin' _come all over my face - oh my fucking -_ "

Castiel's mouth dropped open on a long, low sound, as he jacked himself faster and shoved his fingers into his feathers, pulling, pulling.

"Yes, Dean, oh, Dean, I want that, I want it, I want it, oh - " Cas chanted.

"Yeah, that's it, that's fuckin _it,_ think about coming all over my face, across my eyelashes, my lips, my tongue," Dean said, totally gone, mindless with it as he fucked his own hand watching impossible, beautiful Castiel going to pieces in front of him. "An' then fuckin' - make me take your cock, mount me like a fuckin' animal, make me take it, make me your bitch, do it, fuck, fuck Cas, holy fucking - _holy shit -_ "

Dean couldn't stop the filth dropping from his mouth, but Castiel was _writhing_ with his words, punctuating them with gasped _yes, Dean_ s, and _yes I want that, I want it -_

Castiel's back was soaked now, the feathers messed up and wet with it, as Castiel rocked into his fist with abandon and whined at the pictures Dean kept painting with his words.

"You fuckin' think it's _bad,_ how bad you want this," said Dean. "But baby, I want it too. God, I fuckin' want it. So fuckin' gorgeous like this, spread out for me. Spread your wings, Cas, fuckin' - _please._ "

"I love to hear you beg," Castiel ground out, a glance over his shoulder like a counterstrike.

It was Dean's turn to moan, as he thrust into his hand and watched Castiel.

"I want you to come, little mate," Castiel said. "With me, Dean."

Dean had no idea how the tables had suddenly turned, Castiel dominant -

but maybe that was the truth of it anyway.

Whatever it was, he was on board.

Now, and forever.

And Castiel hopped off the bed with all the light ease of a practiced warrior, walked up to Dean seated on the chair, and standing there with those midnight-oilslick dark wings stretched high above him, he stared down at Dean with hooded eyes.

"On your knees," he commanded, and Dean scrambled to obey, gazing up at Castiel.

Then, Cas jacked his cock a couple of times and came all over Dean's face.

Dean stared up at him with the shock of it, as the stripes of come coated his features, and then he moaned again, bucked up, and came on a humilated, perfect whine.

"That's it, little mate," Castiel cooed. "You're _mine._ Never forget it."

Dean - panting, staring up at the dominant angelic warrior standing over him, as come dripped down his cheek and chin - was conquered. Castiel's conquest was complete.

"I love you, Dean Winchester," said Castiel, and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

He waved a hand, and the mess vanished.

"Now, come here," said Cas, and led a speechless Dean to the bed.

Dean crawled in, suddenly exhausted. Castiel wrapped his arms around him.

After a moment, the whispered silk of those great wings also came down around Dean, heavy and soft like a blanket.

For the first time in a long time, Dean fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, and slept the entire night through.

***

When Dean woke the following morning, Castiel was gone.


	67. I'd Give Up Forever to Touch You

"He's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone," Dean said, panicking, grasping at his hair with his hands. "Sam he's gone what do I do?"

"Calm down - "

Dean shot daggers at him. He slammed a fist into his jacket pocket and used his other hand to point a finger in his brother's face.

"Last damn thing you ever say to _anybody_ is _calm down,_ jeez, Sam, you oughtta know that!" said Dean. "You say that shit to somebody, you got a whole new problem on your hands!"

"Sorry, sorry, you're right, I wasn't thinking," said Sam.

"What the hell is this?"

"What the hell is what?"

Dean drew his hand out of his jacket pocket.

It was a cassette tape.

_Castiel's Favorite Traxx,_ it said.

"Did Cas," said Sam, with the absolute bravest pokerface he could put on, "make you a mixtape?"

"Shut up," said Dean on autopilot. "I made him one first, he probably thought - you know, with the stones, how they reciprocate -"

" _You_ made _Cas_ a _mixtape first_ ," said Sam, and Dean could _hear_ the italics in his voice.

"Man, did he write all the songs on the lines - jeez, you're supposed to be _surprised,_ and like, listen to the lyrics -"

He looked up to see Sam cracking at the edges like chocolate magic shell on ice cream.

"What'd he put on there?" asked Sam with great effort.

"None of your - hey!"

Sam grabbed the case out of Dean's hands.

" _Please Forgive Me -_ Bryan Adams. _Anything for Love -_ Meat Loaf. _Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word -_ Elton John. What the hell?!"

"I didn't say he had taste!" said Dean, grabbing for the case and missing. "Give it back!"

"Wow, I knew he had it bad, I didn't know he had it _soft rock_ bad," said Sam, giggling like a hulking giant had no earthly right to. " _Objects in the Rearview Mirror_ \- Meat Loaf. _I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues -_ Elton John. _When You Say Nothing At All -_ wow, modern country? What have you been _teaching_ him?!"

"Ain't me," grouched Dean. "Have you _seen_ his car?"

"Okay, okay," said Sam, handing Dean the cassette tape back. "I'll let you - or Cas - keep the rest of your dignity. You'll have to find out what else he put on here on your own. Have you tried praying to him?"

"Like a million times!"

"Where do you think he went?"

"I don't know, he's always tryin' to be a damned martyr!"

"Takes one to know one."

"Hey, you ain't got no moral high ground here, chief."

"Didn't say I did."

"That damned angel spooked him," said Dean. "He's probably sittin' at the top of Mount Everest right now, _moping._ You come back here right now! Stop _leaving_ me!"

The anguish in his voice caught strangely.

Dean glanced at his brother in the fierce hope that Sam hadn't heard it.

Sam's expression softened and went sideways like melted butter sliding off a pancake.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," said Sam.

Dean clutched at his hair with his fingers.

Then he pointed at Sam again.

"You," he said, "are gonna tell me every damn fact you know about birds."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have worked in security all over the country in various different roles. One of the _very first things_ you get briefed on is to _never_ use the phrase _calm down_. It's dismissive, ignites a situation, and never makes anything better. If somebody's pissed, talking down to them is just going to piss them off more, and if somebody isn't pissed, well, they sure are now! Saying _calm down_ is a useless phrase, will only ever escalate a situation, and is one of the most incendiary sayings in the English language.


	68. Oh Lord, Oh Lord, What Do I Do? - Then

It was Dean's first time in New York City, and he was completely bewildered.

He was lost, somewhere in an Italian neighborhood in Harlem.

Out of his element, and in the way.

The buildings towered high above him and he didn't know what to do without being able to see the land rising and falling around him. There were _so many people - !_

A loud, sharp wolf-whistle cut through the noise.

"Hey, handsome," said a young guy leaning in a doorway, flipping a coin. "You wanna come in?"

"I, uh, I don't have any money," Dean said, backing up and out of the way of the sea of people.

"That's all right, figured you didn't," said the guy. "Name's Achille. This is my family's restaurant. C'mon in, you look hungry."

Dean gave him a wary look.

Achille smiled, putting a toothpick between his teeth.

"Not everybody in this city's out to murder you, kid," he said. "C'mon. We ain't gonna break the bank on a single plate of spaghetti."

Dean took one look at the sidewalk swarming with people and on a quick nod, followed Achille inside.

***

"Oh my _God,_ " said Dean, his mouth full.

"What'd I tell ya?" asked Achille, dark eyes dancing.

Dean's stomach, for the first time in what felt like, and may actually have been, years, felt full. That horrible scratching emptiness of hunger finally disappeared.

As he ate, Dean noticed more and more about Achille. High cheekbones, Roman nose. Bright dark eyes. The kind of guy with a devil-may-care smile, always ready with a joke. Slim but toned. 

_Damn, he's good-looking,_ Dean's mind supplied without any permission.

Dean blinked softly, and licked his lips.

"If you want, I can show you around the city," said Achille, his boastful attitude suddenly shy. "If you want."

"I dunno man, I can't," said Dean. "I'm here with my dad and brother."

"And where were they when I just picked you outta the street, country mouse?" asked Achille, smiling.

Dean's heart fluttered. He wanted that smile to be only for him.

"Sam's studying," said Dean. "Dad's, uh. Working."

"Then you got time," said Achille. "Time to spend with me. If you want to."

Dean, full for the first time in ages, and warm beneath the gaze of someone who saw _Dean_ and _only Dean,_ thought:

_maybe I can have something, just for me_

"Okay," said Dean. "Sure."

***

Achille took Dean to a lot of places, but not where he was expecting to go.

None of the major tourist attractions, but small cafés and barbershops and various points of interest that were all New York According to Achille.

They sat together on a park bench beneath the leaves, turning colors because it was fall. 

"You cold, country mouse? Your cheeks are pink."

Dean grinned.

"A little," he admitted. 

"Mm, maybe we can make them pink for another reason," said Achille, leaned in, and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

Dean's mind swirled with thought, ideas, the mere _potential_ -

Achille drew back with a soft smile, and when Dean didn't respond, he began to apologize, his beautiful dark eyes filled with concern.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should've asked, I didn't even know if you were - were -"

"I am," Dean said, bold and right out loud. "Again. Try it again."

Dean felt a thrill at seeing Achille's expression relax into a mix of relief and joy -

and then they were kissing, soft and sweet and exhilirating, somewhere on a park bench in New York City Dean wouldn't be able to find again if he tried -

and it was like hot chocolate and warm coffee and coming home.

***

After that, Dean kept making excuses to get out of things so that he could meet up with Achille.

He never told Sam or his dad what he was doing. He liked having Achille as his own secret - not just because he feared what his dad might do if he found out, but because he just wanted something for his own, something just Dean's.

Achille was Dean's age. They were both teenagers, but bore heavy responsibility - Achille with his family business, and Dean with his own.

They met in a little walkup that Achille's family owned above the restaurant.

"Nobody's gonna be home," Achille said, kissing Dean, unbuttoning his shirt. "Family's all away visiting great-grandma for the weekend. We have the place to ourselves."

Dean just nodded, breathless. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Are you okay with this?" asked Achille. "We can go slow. We don't have to do it at all if you don't want."

"I do," said Dean on a little sigh. "I want to, Achille. I love you."

Achille's eyes closed briefly and he leaned his forehead against Dean, clinging to his open shirt.

"I love you too, Dean," he said. " _Ciccio, quanto sei bello._ "

Dean sighed.

"Love when you talk to me like that," he murmured, staring down at Achille.

Achille smiled, devilish, daring.

"In Italian?" he asked, kissing Dean's lips, " _Caro,_ everything I do is in Italian."

Dean laughed a little, but the tension ratcheted up even higher as Achille undressed him.

He shivered a little, bare to the world, as Achille was likewise.

Achille was beautiful, serene. Confident in his skin. All the things Dean was certain he was not.

Watching him, Dean had never felt such intense longing, a need to be one with someone else. It was sweet and soft and real, like so many things in his life were not.

"It's all right, country mouse," said Achille, embracing him. "I won't let you fall."

And Dean loved him, and loved him all the more in that moment, the warm welcome of Achille's arms, the bright dance of light in his dark eyes, the scent of the restaurant working beneath them, the strange privacy granted by the anonymity of the city, the sounds of the people and the traffic outside and the cool fall air and that chocolate-coffee flavor of Achille's lips -

all of these imprinted indelibly on his memory because of what happened next.

One moment, the entire universe was Dean and Achille, and the next was absolute chaos as the door broke down and there were cops and shouting, Dean pulled forcibly away from Achille as Achille shouted and begged for them to let him go, Dean dragged out of the room and the warmth and the safety of it, only to see John Winchester leaning against the wall, one foot up on it, arms crossed.

"Dad! Dad, help me!" Dean had wailed.

John wouldn't even look at him.

The last Dean ever saw of Achille was his desperate, horrified expression as he sat on the bed and watched Dean pulled away from and out of his life.

***

Poughkeepsie was what happened after that.

Because of that.

Dean kept the words _I love you_ safely behind his teeth afterwards.


	69. I've Fallen For Someone Who's Nothin' Like You - Now

"Why'd you pick that restaurant, anyway?" Sam asked, as they made their way out of the city and back to the Impala. "Kind of a hole-in-the-wall. I didn't think you spent enough time here to know about places like that."

Dean just stared straight ahead.

"I don't really remember," Dean told him.


	70. Unchained Melody

Music filled the car.

Dean's hands were on the steering wheel as he kept an eye on the road in front of him.

They were driving up the coast towards Boston now, primarily because Dean had wanted a pretext for getting into the car despite nothing of particular note happening in Boston as far as they were aware.

"Is this Cas's mixtape?" asked Sam sweetly.

"Shaddup," said Dean. "Now c'mon. Bird info. You promised."

"Fine," sighed Sam. "But Cas isn't a bird, he might not - "

"Sam!"

"Okay, okay," Sam muttered. "Well, here's something. Birds tend to lean against each other, light touches, to indicate their interest."

Dean absolutely did not think about the millions of little ways in which he and Cas had touched over the years.

"But, uh, that's how it starts," said Sam, clearing his throat. "They dance or sing songs - "

"I ain't doin' that," said Dean.

"Giving each other mixtapes is kind of like singing to each other," Sam pointed out.

"Forget it, Sam. I ain't gonna sing. Or dance."

"I really wish you would," said Sam.

"Not a chance."

"But Dean, don't you want Cas to come home to you?" asked Sam in a syrupy tone. "You gotta take one for the team here. And twerk."

"Sam. I will kill you with my mind."

"Fine," said Sam. "There's, uh. Nest-building."

"Nest building?"

"Yeah, like one bird builds a nest for the other bird to show they're a good provider or whatever."

"I don't even know how I would do that."

"Well, if Cas is somewhat like a bird, and we know there are at least some similarities, then I'd guess he's the mate-for-life type."

"Birds mate for life?"

"Some do. Eagles. Swans."

"Penguins? Penguins do that stone thing."

"Some penguins do, yeah. Same ones lay a single egg, it says here."

"Then what kind of things do those penguins do, in those courtship displays?" asked Dean.

He shook his head.

"I can't fucking believe I'm having this conversation for a legitimate reason," he said. "How fucked up are our lives?"

Sam nodded in agreement.

"I know what you mean," he said. "This wasn't really how I expected February to go. I am a little disappointed we're not spending Mardi Gras in New Orleans again. I thought we might look up some people. Sadie. Grover."

Dean laughed.

"Grover?" he asked. "Like on Sesame Street?"

Sam glanced at him, puzzled.

"No, Grover your old boss on Bourbon Street," said Sam.

Dean's brows drew together.

"Nope, doesn't ring a bell," he said.

Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Dean, do you remember Achille Genovese?" he asked quietly.

Dean thought about it.

"Never heard the name before, what is that, Italian?" asked Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam softly. "Yeah, it is."

He pursed his lips.

"I think the angels have started their scorched-earth policy."

"What makes you say that? Why would they, anyway? Cas is gone."

"Because that's a name I've known all these years and it's a name you tried to make absolutely certain I didn't know," said Sam. "Nobody's that secretive without a reason, Dean, and when you said you didn't remember why we were at that restaurant, I thought you were just being evasive."

"What? It was in the neighborhood where we were talking to that ghost."

"Well, yeah, but that you stopped at _that_ restaurant out of all the restaurants there?" asked Sam. "Can't be coincidence."

"Okay then," said Dean. "If this guy was such a big deal, then who was he to me?"

Sam sighed, and faced forward again.

"I never knew," he said. "I just knew he mattered to you. A lot."

"How?"

"You talk in your sleep, Dean."

"Great," said Dean, wondering just how many secrets his unconscious mind had betrayed, "that's awesome. We'll put a pin in it and come back to the whole memory-erasing problem later. Right now -"

"We need to get Cas back," finished Sam.

"Penguin lore. Go for it."

Sam spent a few minutes researching things on the Internet.

"How the hell do you always get wifi to work wherever you are?" asked Dean. "Is it because you're tall?"

"Shut up and let me work," said Sam.

"Fine," said Dean, pretending he didn't want an excuse to be able to focus on the lyrics of Castiel's mixtape again.

"Wow," said Sam. "Penguins are disgusting."

"Focus, Samuel," said Dean.

"Okay, says here that penguins choose a mate by -"

He laughed.

"What?"

"Uh. _Touching each other's necks and slapping each other on the back_ ," said Sam.

Dean didn't dignify that with a response.

"Some penguins give each other a firm hug when one returns after being gone for a long time," Sam continued. "Wow, you were just like _legs open for Cas_ from day one, huh?"

"Damn it, Sam, this is important!"

"I know, I know," said Sam. "It's just - well, _funny,_ is all."

He kept reading.

"Says here they engage in _ecstatic display,_ " said Sam. "Wings up and out, flapping, to attract a mate to their nest. Did Cas show you his wings?"

"Uh," said Dean.

"No further details needed," Sam said hastily. "Uh. UV light reflected off the feathers for mate selection."

Dean thought of the blue of Castiel's wings, dripping grace.

He adjusted himself, uncomfortable.

" _Wow,_ okay," said Sam. "Says if the male is taken out of the running due to disappearance or death, the females replace them. Maybe Cas is doing that."

"Cas sees me as the girl in this?" asked Dean. "He lays eggs, man!"

"According to you, angels can switch gender at will," Sam reminded him. "I don't think angels see things the way we do, or even the way penguins do. Not entirely, anyway."

"Okay, so what do I have to do to get that idiot back down here?"

"Well, they return to the same nest year after year. So it looks like -"

"I'm gonna have to build a nest," Dean said flatly. "Where the hell am I going to do that?"

"Some penguins nest in burrows underground."

Dean sighed.

"Do we have to go back to the bunker?"

"Unless you want to go out into a field and try a few courtship dances - which, Dean, I really think you ought to consider - "

"We'll go back to the bunker," said Dean, resolute. "But first, we're going to Boston."

"What's in Boston?"

"Angels," said Dean. "Of a different kind."


	71. If They're Green or They're Blue - Then

On Bourbon Street, it was the eve of Mardi Gras, and it was raining hard.

Dean was sweeping the floor of the bar, which was mysteriously empty for just after suppertime, but it also felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the start of the carnival.

Grover Lincoln, his boss, a tall Black man who enjoyed welcoming his customers while wearing a cape and tophat pretending to be Baron Samedi, was sitting behind the bar playing a dice game.

"Dean," said Grover. "C'mere."

Dean did as he was asked and hopped up on one of the barstools. The entire bar had an eerie neon green glow, including the black bartop, giving it a spooky Halloween-style feel.

"I'm gonna put one of these dice under these cups," said Grover. "Now you tell me which one it's under."

"I've seen the shell game before, Grover," said Dean, grinning. 

"This is gonna be different, you'll see."

Dean watched, and Grover's hands moved quickly - _too_ quickly, almost supernaturally so.

Dean's hand itched for his gun, ready to get the holy water.

"Now guess."

Dean shook his head.

"I can't," he admitted.

"Aw, go on," said Grover.

"The middle one."

Grover lifted the cup. 

There was the dice.

"Ha!" said Dean. "Good guess!"

"Not really," said Grover, and lifted the other cups to reveal that there were dice under all of them.

"How the hell did you -" Dean said. "Is this real magic?"

"Dean, it's _all_ real magic," said Grover. "That's the point. Where'd the other dice come from? Sleight of hand, sure. But the thing is - all of it's magic, in the end. Like greeting the customers not as _Grover_ but as _Baron Samedi._ "

"That's just acting."

"And what is acting, if not magic?" asked Grover, putting the cups and the dice away. "There are a few different kinds of magic."

"Like what?"

Grover smiled.

"Like a wedding day," he said. "Like when you wait for an old friend at the airport and see them again for the first time. Like acting, yeah - I mean, lotta people still believe in the old Baron, lots don't, but that little joy they get when they see me in the getup? All that is magic, and it's all real enough."

Grover suddenly set a tropical drink in front of Dean, hot pink with an umbrella, fresh ice.

"Like how a spark leads to falling in love and then the relationship afterwards, it's a combination," said Grover.

Dean stared at the drink. He hadn't heard or seen him make it.

It was just there, glowing in the odd light of the bar.

"Big magic, and little miracles," said Grover. 


	72. Like Trying to Catch a Falling Star

Irish neighborhoods in Boston had always been something of a party.

Dean pushed his way through the crowded bar, holding a glass of Guinness above his head because let's face it he's a pretty basic guy with some basic needs. The kind of guy who delighted in a shamrock on top of the head of beer.

American, really.

Sam followed, but lingered a little as a few of the women took a fancy to him and kept stopping him on his way through the bar.

Finally Dean sat down in the back, in a dark wooden booth.

Sam emerged eventually, thankfully alone.

"Wow, this is a hard place to navigate," said Sam. "What are we doing here again?"

"Gotta ask some advice from an old friend," said Dean.

He took a sip of his beer.

Then he gave Sam a puzzled look.

"What? What is it?" asked Sam.

"Did we ever come here before?" he asked his brother.

Sam looked around. The place was packed and raucous, people shouting in Irish and English, some people off singing in a corner.

"No, I think I would remember," said Sam. "I figured it was somewhere that you went while you were hunting alone or with Dad."

"Sam," said Dean, twisting a paper napkin. "Sam, I don't remember why we're here or who we're meeting."

He could feel the panic rising in his chest -

and then strange imagery, but whenever he tried to look at directly, it was just -

_gone._

_strawberry blonde hair, skin so pale it glowed in the afternoon sunlight, freckles -_

_traded sighs and furtive touches -_

_it had been cold that afternoon, but the sheets were white and warm_

_outside beyond the frosted window glass it started to snow_

_Dean, pulled back down into the warmth for a searing kiss-_

Dean tried to concentrate on each flash of memory, but whenever he did, they seemed to melt away, fading to nothing.

"You said we were here because of _angels of a different kind,_ " Sam quoted. "Dean, whatever they're doing to you - I think we're both gonna need to come clean. _All the time,_ God's honest truth, scout's honor kinda stuff. Because look, if you can't remember, at least _I can._ Lying to each other and covering shit up is our weakness. Time to make honesty one of our strengths. And I won't judge you for anything, I swear."

Dean stared at Sam. He knew his brother was right.

"Gonna take a long time to get over that kinda conditioning," said Dean. "It's almost like a reflex for us."

"Habits are formed and broken with practice," said Sam. "Time to get practicing."

"Dean."

Sam and Dean looked up to see a handsome man with light red hair smiling down at them.

_freckles and skin so pale it glowed_

"Do I," Dean began, certain he knew the answer to the question but not in the way he should, "know you?"

The man gave him a puzzled look etched with a strange indescribable sadness.

"Please take a seat," invited Sam. "I'm Dean's brother, Sam. He's suffering from some kind of selective amnesia."

"Oh," said the man, but still glanced at Dean with a kind of hurt expression. "Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Angel."

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

_angels of a different kind_

"Dean, scoot over," Sam said, and Dean did as he was told. "Nice to meet you too."

Angel stared at Dean. 

Dean stared back, but couldn't place the man.

"Dean wanted to talk to you about something," said Sam. "Now, I don't know what, because he didn't tell me, and now he can't remember either."

"I'll bite," said Angel, and Dean noticed that he had an Irish accent as he spoke.

"Do you know what we do?" asked Sam.

Angel gave him a strange look.

"Know?" he repeated. "Sam, _what you do_ came from Ireland. And many other places besides. Typical Americans thinking they're the first at everything."

"You're not American?"

"'Course I'm American, that's how I know."

Sam grinned in spite of the situation.

"If you don't mind me asking," Dean put in, with a light trip of his words, "what were we - to - to each other?"

Angel gave Dean another strange, wistful look.

"Are you sure you want me to tell you?" he asked. "With your brother here and all?"

Dean looked at Sam and nodded.

"We're good," said Dean.

"If you say so," said Angel, and told them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Americans making fun of Americans is a quintessentially American pastime :)
> 
> Many of the Boston Irish retain an Irish-sounding accent and some also speak the Irish language. There are various Irish immigrant enclaves on the East Coast, but this accent and language are probably the most evident in places like Newfoundland.
> 
> Irish-American people form the largest ethnic group in Boston, Massachusetts. Scituate, Massachusetts, has a nearly 50 percent Irish-American population, and is considered the most Irish city in the United States.


	73. You Better Kiss Me - Then

St-Andrews-by-the-Sea, New Brunswick, was not a place Dean thought he'd find himself.

His first trip over the border into another country, and he was fascinated by _everything._

Angel held his hand in defiance, but nobody in St Andrews really seemed to give a damn.

"Sometimes I think they have it better up here than we do down there," Angel had murmured.

Dean kissed the back of his hand, freckled like his own.

Angel was the first person that made him feel like his freckles were beautiful, like freckles could be beautiful in general. He'd always hated them, people gave him shit about them.

Angel thought he was beautiful, and told him so.

Dean had met Angel one of the first times his dad had gone missing.

An Irish bar in Boston where someone had bought him a drink and he'd expected to see some smokin' hot lady but when he'd looked up -

there was Angel, bright blue eyes and light red hair and freckles, raising his hand in a little wave.

Angel, as it turned out, was a bareknuckle boxer and something of a badass.

Dean went weak at the knees.

Angel was also into men.

He was particularly into Dean.

But the times being what they were, and frankly the Catholic neighborhood being what it was, stolen kisses in the back of the Impala turned to desperate fumbling and then Angel said, breathless:

"Come to Canada with me."

Dean had pulled back to look at him, those too-blue eyes shining, that Dean privately imagined resembled the Irish Sea. 

"Canada?" he asked, his head swimming with denied lust and the sense of adventurous rule-breaking that was Leaving America In Any Way At All and also ignoring his duties, ignoring his dad's instructions, if his dad couldn't be bothered to at least _call_ then what did Dean care anyway?

"Okay," Dean gasped, as Angel kissed the dip in his collarbone and laved his tongue there, "Okay, okay we're going right now."

And he just about vaulted into the front seat, starting the car and driving off into the rainy night.

***

It was a lot easier to make their way over the border than Dean assumed, and ten minutes after their arrival at the guardhouse, Dean was driving in another country for the first time.

They found a beautiful hotel by the water and booked a room there.

Angel convinced Dean to try creamed hot lobster sandwich on mashed potatoes.

This was to be one of Dean's closest experiences with touching Heaven.

***

They made love there, over and over again, in the beautiful little room by the sea, the blue outside matching Angel's eyes.

Dean had fallen, and hard; Angel too.

There were many whispered promises, desperate gasps, heads thrown back on a moan or a shout. Their world was nothing but waking, and sex, and sleeping, and food, all with the backdrop of the deep blue Atlantic in the cold air outside the window.

Dean thought he had found paradise, or at least was touching the gates.

He told Angel everything.

About himself, about hunting.

His brother. His mother. His missing father.

His ache for the things he was convinced he couldn't have. 

How broadly and deeply he felt _everything_ , his false bravado, his constructed macho exterior.

Angel was just as passionate, just as emotional, just as keen -

they fit together like bookends, their love was deep and pure and true.

Dean wondered aloud, at times, how he had gotten so lucky as to find a man like Angel.

Angel, who sang him old Irish love songs and cracked ridiculous jokes and told tall tales where he'd wink at the end so Dean knew he was full of it, as if Dean didn't already know.

He loved the way Angel's smile curved his lips, he loved how sweet and passionate Angel could be, he simply _loved._

Dean was growing accustomed to kinder treatment from men, seeing men as more than just truck-stop lays because they couldn't control themselves, a source of anger and fury and pain.

Here, with Angel, Dean could be as gentle as he was inside.

Here, he was free.

***

Dean's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Dean, it's your dad," slurred John Winchester on the other end.

Dean froze, despite being wrapped in warm blankets, despite being in love.

"You gotta - c'mon an' help yer old man," he said. "M in Vegas, haha. C'mon Dean."

"I'm nowhere near Vegas," said Dean, trying to control his anger. "Dad, I've been calling you for _weeks,_ I had no idea where you were, you could've been _dead_ for all I knew - "

"Don't take that tone with me, young man," said John, apparently sobering up a little. "You know what we do for a living. Man up, son. You gotta stop takin' things so seriously."

"Sam's _gone,_ Dad, don't you care?" Dean demanded.

"Sure I care. If Sam was with you, he'd come find his old man," said John.

"Last time the two of you talked, it didn't end well," said Dean sourly. " _I'm_ the one that would come and get you, not Sam."

"Then do it," said John.

"Tell your da to shut the fuck up," Angel suddenly grumbled against Dean's thigh, where he'd been dozing off.

Dean clapped a hand over his mouth to stop from laughing.

"Who's that with you?" John demanded, immediately suspicious. "Where are you anyway? You got somethin' better to do than save peoples' lives, son?"

"I got somethin' better to do than collect your drunk ass from Vegas!" Dean snapped. "This ain't about hunting, Dad, this is about _us -_ "

"M stayin' in a hotel called Stardust," said his dad in a dead voice. "It's in a neighborhood called Winchester, ain't that funny? Anyway. I'll be expectin' you in a few days."

The line went dead.

Dean took the phone away from his ear and stared at it.

"God damn it," he muttered.

Angel sat up and blinked sleepily at him.

"You're leaving," he said.

It was not a question.

Dean scratched at the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed, about himself, about his disaster of a family, about everything.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Yeah, I am. Sorry."

And there were more kisses and promises and one last, slow and sweetly torturous session of lovemaking, where they both cried out and came against each other.

Dean kissed Angel goodbye, and promised that he'd look him up if he ever returned to Boston.

Angel told him that he wanted to believe it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, too, went to heaven the first time I ever had a creamed hot lobster sandwich in eastern Canada.


	74. Life is a Highway - Now

Sam cleared his throat.

"Uh, wow," he said. "I didn't know that."

Dean just stared.

"I'm sorry that you've forgotten me," said Angel, and the heartbreak in his voice was evident. "But it's good to see you again, Dean."

Dean looked at him.

And although he couldn't remember what Angel was talking about, there was one thing he knew-

that the blue eyes he wanted staring back at him belonged to someone else entirely.

"I think I must've called you because I'm missing someone I care about a lot," said Dean.

"Oh," said Angel. Then he realized. "Oh, I see. Well."

He turned away from Dean then, as if he couldn't bear to look at him, and looked at Sam instead.

"How can I be of assistance?"

Sam regarded him coolly, as he leaned back and folded his arms.

"Really?"

Angel kept his eyes on Sam.

"Anything for Dean Winchester."

"Okay," said Sam, leaning forward again.

Dean knew that he was aiming for a distraction to soften the blow, but he knew from experience that nothing ever really soothed that wound aside from time.

Well. Time, and forgetting.

"The angels have mobilized monsters to murder drifters all across the country," said Sam. "Angels disapprove of Dean's love life, apparently."

"Why would angels care about that?"

"Because Dean's - uh...??" Sam glanced at Dean so he could fill in the blanks, but Dean just shrugged. "He's an angel, too."

"Oh," said Angel, and laughed a little. "Guess I don't really measure up when you've got the real thing, huh."

"I'm sure it's not like that," said Sam.

"Yeah," Dean echoed faintly, feeling like a total jerk.

"All right," said Angel. "Then the question is, what're these monsters getting out of it? Why are they doing as these angels say?"

"Well, for one thing, they all hate us," said Dean. "They may as well hate us together. And I imagine there's less smiting going on."

"Oh, and the black-eyed children," said Sam. "One seems to show up whenever one of the drifters is killed."

"Are they working with the angels?" asked Angel.

"We don't think so," said Sam. "They might be death omens, or they might be benevolent. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Right," said Angel. "Now, I don't know about the kids, but I _do_ know how to stop the killings. Maybe."

"Great, what is it?"

Angel looked at his hands. Old scars crisscrossed them, along with the roughened callouses of many fights.

"I was never a hunter like you two," he said. "But I was a fighter, and a good one. Sometimes you fight for money, or fun. Sometimes you fight for revenge. But the best fight is the fight where you both walk away without anyone lifting a fist."

"And how does that relate to any of this?"

Angel grinned.

"Well, boys," he said. "You just gotta figure out what _you_ can offer these monsters that the angels can't. You know how they say pit the poor against the poor and the rich win? Well, I can't imagine anybody more upper class than angels."

He dropped a wink at Dean.

"Certainly not an Irish Catholic boy like me."

"So that's why Dean wanted to meet with you? Strategy?" asked Sam.

"Sure he loves it," said Angel, now really looking at Dean again. "Makes him weak in the knees, a combination of brute strength and cocky brilliance in battle."

"Huh," said Sam, and gave Dean an evaluating look.

Dean could see those wheels turning and turning again.

Just then, Sam's phone rang. He picked it up.

"Oh hey Jody," he said, smiling. "Long time no see, what's up?"

Angel just smiled at Dean sadly.

"Sometimes the water in the river's long passed under the bridge," he said. "But I count myself lucky that I got to swim at all."

Dean gave him a puzzled look, but just then, Sam hung up the phone.

"We gotta get moving," said Sam. "Another body, a drifter down in Johns Island."

"You mean the one in the Sea Islands?" asked Dean. "Sam, that's _days_ away."

"Yeah, and if we want to have some kind of meeting with the monsters, might be a good idea to show up where they struck last," said Sam. "Just in case they're the kind of creatures who like to linger around the scene of the crime."

"Okay," said Angel, letting Dean up out of the booth.

"Thanks," said Dean. "And I'm sorry again. If I remember you, I'll come back."

Angel's expression was sad but light.

"Please don't, Dean," he murmured. "I don't think my heart could handle it. Nobody loves like the Irish. It's why all of our songs are so sad. You go find your angel, and you make him as happy as you made this one."

He touched his forehead in a salute to Sam, and bowed a little.

"Good to meet you," said Angel. "Take care, now."

And Dean could feel those bright blue eyes on him as they made their way out of the pub and back to the car.

***

"Have you ever noticed," Sam said, once they were back on the highway, as if he were discussing the weather, "that a lot of these guys you've dated are kinda -"

"What?" asked Dean. "Look, Sam, I know what that guy told you but it's mostly been women, okay?"

"There was the Italian guy in New York," Sam ticked off his fingers, ignoring his brother's sputtering, "some Mexican guy back years ago I barely remember, this Irish guy who's a boxer and apparently some kind of strategist, so."

"So?"

"So!" said Sam triumphantly. "Dark hair, blue eyes, badass, strategist, from another culture, speaks a different language - starting to sound like anybody we know?!"

"Sam, we have a job to do."

"Damn," said Sam, settling back into his seat with all the joy of somebody who's just figured some shit out. "You _do_ have a type."

Dean punished him by remaining silent all the way to Virginia.


	75. Losing My Religion

The Sea Islands were like a world unto themselves.

The islanders were friendly, most of them speaking in the Gullah tongue. 

Sam approached the sherriff of the island, an old, portly Black man with a wide-brimmed hat.

"Sheriff Tucker?" he asked, flashing his FBI badge. "Agent Aday, this is Agent Steinman."

"Pleased to meet you folks," said Sheriff Tucker, his thumbs through his beltloops as he rocked back a little on his heels. "Sorry to disturb you over this mess."

"It's what we're here for, sir," said Sam.

"This is where the body was found," said the sheriff, as they walked into the park.

"Holy crap, what the fuck is that?!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam looked like he was about to kill him and after everything Sam had gone through with Dean, he probably had some kind of elaborate plan to do just that one day.

But Sheriff Tucker just laughed a little.

"Oh, that's just the Angel Oak," he said, smiling proudly. "We're mighty proud of that old tree 'round these parts. Glad to see it's still impressive to outsiders."

"Impressive?!" Dean repeated, approaching the tree, which was enormous, with many long, thick branches that extended further and further both out and up. "This is one of the most incredible things I've ever seen."

"Legend has it that former slaves appear as angels around the tree," said Sheriff Tucker. "But I know you boys didn't come all the way down here for a little regional folklore."

"You'd be surprised at how much we enjoy regional folklore," Sam deadpanned.

Dean shot him a glance and grinned.

"But you're right, we're here because of the latest murder," said Sam. "A string of drifters have been killed all across the United States."

"A shame, that," said Sheriff Tucker. "It's too bad, the way they talk about these people, as if livin' a nomadic life meant anything about your integrity. Most drifters come through here are pretty friendly, if not outright helpful. A damn shame that somebody seems to want to kill 'em off."

"Do you have a name for the victim?"

Sheriff Tucker shrugged.

"Who ever does, with drifters?" he sighed. "Most don't want to be known. Lotta John and Jane Does all over this country. You get a name on any of the others?"

"No," said Sam. "Can we see the body?"

"Be my guest," said Sheriff Tucker. "And if your partner here would rather stay here and appreciate the Angel, then that's fine with me too."

Dean stood in awe in front of the tree.

"Yeah, you know what?" Sam said. "Why don't you stick around here, see if you can talk to anybody who might've seen something."

"Roger that," said Dean, his eyes glued to the ever-spreading branches of the oak.

***

Dean barely registered Sam leaving with the sheriff.

He just stared up at the tree, and wondered if this was what angels looked like in their true forms.

But he was having a hard time reconciling that with the facts he did know, namely that some of them had many heads and that Cas told him he was made up of concentric rings with eyes.

On fire.

With wings.

Dean blinked up at the tree and thought this must be why people can't look at them directly, they are so completely outside of human comprehension.

But this tree sure got close.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean startled and turned around to see a sexy white woman with long black hair, wearing a tight black dress, standing behind him.

"And you are?"

"A representative," she said, her eyes turning over red. "Heard you wanted to talk to us."

"A crossroads demon," said Dean. "Ain't no crossroads here, sweetheart."

"Sure there is," she said. "The Angel Oak is a liminal space between the natural and supernatural world. Liminal enough."

"Great. Why are you here? Spit it out."

"I hear tell you and your brother are wanting to bargain."

"Not with a bitch like you."

She tsked at him.

"Now, now, that's not going to get you what you want," she said, pouting. "You want us to stop killing your kind, you stop killing our kind."

"No can do, sister," said Dean. "You guys stop munching on innocent people, we stop hunting. Them's the breaks."

"Hm," she said. "As if you and your brother _or_ your angel don't have blood on your hands. You've pissed off a lot of powerful people, Dean."

"Yeah, about that," said Dean. "Why're you takin' orders from the angels, anyway? Thought you were above all that. Or below it."

The demon smiled.

"It is seen as a little...unseemly," she said. "But the chance to hurt the Winchesters where it counts? Irresistible."

"Yeah, and you don't think that the angels ain't gonna smite the hell outta every last one of you?" he asked. "Trust me on this one, angels just use you up til they ain't got no use for you anymore."

The demon was still smiling, but she looked uncertain now. 

Dean saw that crack in her armor and went for it.

"How about this for a deal?" said Dean. "You stop killin' my people and you get on our side."

"Now why would we do that?"

"Two Winchesters or the entire angelic host," said Dean. "We may pick a few of you off one by one, but the angels can kill off your entire species."

"That's a good reason to stay on the angels' good side."

"Honey, angels are corporate douchebags," said Dean. "All they care about is the bottom line. They'll get rid of grunt workers like so many ants. At least by siding with us you know you've got a fighting chance. Just put things back the way they were, level playing field, everybody's got a chance to win or lose. Besides, do you even know why they're doing this?"

"Like I said, you upset a lot of people."

"Yeah, I get that, but do you actually know _why_ , in this case?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. "I don't meddle in the affairs of angels."

"Because one of their angels was stupid enough to fall in love with me," said Dean. "And I was just stupid enough to love him back."

The demon recoiled.

"They're doing this - because of _love?_ " she said in disbelief. "I thought they were all about love."

"Like I said. All they're about is the bottom line. And they don't approve of this kind of love."

"They lied to us," said the demon.

"They do that," said Dean. "Now, you take this deal to whoever you need to, talk it over, whatever. And let us know."

The demon's lips tightened, but she nodded.

"It _would_ put an end to all our fun," she said, doubtful.

"Lady, monsters have a _lot_ more fun chasing us around," said Dean. "This is just like shooting fish in a barrel. Where's the challenge? Besides, think how ridiculous you'd look if word got out that you were working with angels."

"Not much more ridiculous than working with Winchesters," she said. "But deals are my business. I'll bring word as soon as I can."

She vanished, and left Dean to stare up at the tree.

His phone rang.

"Sam," said Dean. "I got some news."

"Me too," said Sam. "I recognized the body."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sea Islands are a unique place in the United States. The islands have several distinct languages and cultures, including dialects like Gullah, along with some incredible folklore and a distinct culture. The islands have a predominantly Black population.
> 
> Angel Oak is real, and the origin of many folktales in the region.


	76. Must Be the Stars in my Eyes

Sam met Dean on his way out of the morgue.

"Holy shit," said Dean. "I can't believe it. George was one of Dad's best friends, wasn't he?"

"As much as Dad had friends, yeah. It was bound to happen sometime."

"Okay, but," said Dean, stopping outside the Impala, "I talked to a crossroads demon - "

" _Dean!_ "

"No, not like that," he rushed to say. "She wanted to talk to me on behalf of the whole, monster community, I guess. Anyway, I asked if they wanted to switch sides."

"And you're still cool with that after this?"

"Sam," said Dean. "Of course not. But what the hell else could we do? All those other drifters probably had friends and family that loved them."

"Yeah," said Sam. "Not like a ceasefire in war is stopped just because somebody on one side lost someone important to them."

He sighed.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"I think we go back to the Angel Oak and wait," said Dean.

***

As it turned out, they didn't have to wait long.

The crossroads demon showed up, a smile on her face.

"Good news," she said. "Or bad, depending on how you look at it."

She gave Sam an evaluating look.

"Damn," she said. "Didn't realize they grew you like that up in Kansas."

"C'mon, focus," Dean snapped. "You wanna tell us why you killed our friend?"

"Oh, was that a friend of yours?" she said, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "Honestly, I didn't know. But if someone did, I assume it was because losing someone you're close to would hurt more."

"Damn it -"

"Dean," said Sam gently, pushing him aside and standing between them. "He gets a little worked up."

"Don't we all," she purred, looking Sam up and down again. "This little speedbump isn't going to change the deal, is it?"

Sam's expression tightened, but he got past it.

"No," he said. "Deal's still on the table."

"Good," she said. "So. This is it. Take it or leave it."

"We're waiting," said Dean, and Sam shushed him.

"One: we stop killing drifters. Two: we stop working with the angels. Three: this armistice is over, things go back to normal, you two _and all humans_ are fair game again."

"What armistice?" Dean demanded.

The demon tsked at him again and shook her head.

"You must have noticed there were no monster attacks, nothing for you two to investigate?" she asked. "We had a singular focus. Picking off the kind of people nobody would miss. It's so much more enjoyable for us when we pick off the ones who'll be noticed. Now, we're back to the smorgasbord. Deal?"

"But - "

"Those are the terms."

"We'll take it," said Sam.

"Sam!" 

"Dean, this is the only way," said Sam.

"Nice doin' business with you," said the demon. "That whole working with angels thing was just so gauche, and getting a little boring." 

She waved her fingers at them.

"And just so you know - better be careful. This marks the start of hunting season."

She winked, and vanished.

***

"Sam, how _could_ you -" 

"Dean, _you_ made the deal!"

"Well yeah, but -"

"We just put it back the way it was," Sam argued. 

"Was that better?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "But it gives us some space to breathe, okay? Some time for you to find Cas. Speaking of which -"

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Dean. "Get back to the bunker. Build a nest. See if he comes back to me."

"You know, they say _if you love something, let it go,_ " Sam said, as they got into the car.

"You shut your mouth," Dean said. "He'll come back to me. He always does."

_He has to._

_Right?_

***

They overnighted in a motel at the edge of Tennessee.

Dean kept waking in fits and starts, dreams and nightmares of things he could just barely remember.

He wondered how much more the angels were going to take from him before they were done.

He hoped they'd get home in time.

He hoped that Cas would like what he built.

He hoped that by the time that Castiel returned to him, Dean would still remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George is a character I made up because most of their other allies are already dead.


	77. The More You Suffer, The More It Shows You Really Care

"Wow, it feels like we haven't been back here in a hundred years," said Dean, clomping down the stairs in his boots.

"If you're all set to build that nest, I'm gonna shower and catch up on my correspondence," said Sam.

"What correspondence?"

"Dean, I've been spending most of the last month dealing with you and your love life problems," said Sam. "I'd like a little time to deal with mine."

"What? What love life? What problems?" Dean asked.

"See you later!" said Sam gaily, disappearing down the hall.

"Great," said Dean to himself. "Fantastic. Awesome."

He squared his shoulders.

"Right," he said. "Nest."

***

He decided to build it in his own room, because why not?

_If you're gonna go in, you better go all in, right?_

He tried looking up information about penguin nests online, but it was a lot of unhelpful crap about pebbles and sticks, which didn't sound comfortable or welcoming or appealing to him in any way.

Then again, he was not a penguin.

Neither was Cas, despite having some apparent similarities.

So Dean did what he did best, and improvised.

He found a bunch of his old flannel shirts, and piled them up together. Next, he found some soft blankets and an old memory foam mattress topper, which he used to make the base so Cas wouldn't have to sit on the cold floor.

Next, he put in things that mattered. His old leather jacket. A couple of his band t-shirts. Several pillows. He found some old Mardi Gras beads to make it look festive, and then stood back to survey his work.

"That's pretty damned good, if I do say so myself," he said, nodding.

Then, he called out loudly:

"Hey, Cas! I made you a nest, okay? You wanna come down here and check it out or something?"

Dean stood there for a while.

"We gotta talk about this, okay? Me an' Sam talked to the monsters, they're gonna lay off the drifters for now. Who cares what the angels think, Cas? I mean. When have we ever?"

Nothing happened.

"Cas," he said next. "I made you a nest, you gotta at least come down and evaluate it, right? You can't just leave me on read, dude. I made you a _nest._ You gotta at least come here and accept or decline, Cas. Otherwise, that's...that's just fuckin' _rude,_ Castiel."

Dean paused.

"I'm losin' my memories, Cas," said Dean, now a little choked up. "You gotta come talk to me before I end up forgettin' _you._ I done that once and I ain't doin' it again, so get down here right now, you damned chicken."

The familiar _whup-whuff_ behind him, and the resultant puff of wind, made Dean smile despite the tears that were threatening to drown him.

"Hello, Dean."


	78. I Can't Fight This Feeling - Then

Mardi Gras was like something out of Dean's dreams.

Wild, unfettered, so colorful and loud, from the crazy parades to couples having sex on the wrought-iron balconies, beads flinging through the air on all sides, and the bar was full as Grover played Baron Samedi for the people, as Sam waved at him from across the packed street where he was standing up on some boxes to get a better look at the crowds, jubilant and young and free.

The entire world seemed full of possibility, suddenly, in the madness and the music and the magic of New Orleans.

A beautiful woman dressed as a vampire stood on the next float that was coming down the street. The air was filled with fog from the machines on the float, with the heat and the noise of thousands of people, all here to have a good time.

And Dean laughed, and poured drinks, and found himself a part of the great celebration that was Mardi Gras, sharing smiles with his brother whenever he found himself near to, or outside the door.

"You see what I mean, about magic?" Grover shouted in his ear. 

"Yeah, I do," Dean shouted back. 

"And what's that?"

"It's in everything."


	79. Everything I Do - Now

The only thought in Dean's head was _my God is he handsome_ playing on loop like a scratched record.

A feeling of relief that flooded through him as Castiel stepped out of the shadows.

"I built you a nest," said Dean, somewhat unnecessarily, since it took up half the room.

"You...did this for me?" Castiel said, a strange, undefined emotion cracking his voice.

Dean rubbed the back of his head, suddenly shy and wrong-footed.

"Yeah, man," he said softly. "Do you, um. Do you like it?"

"I will have to test it out first."

"Uh. Okay. Knock yourself out."

Then Castiel began to methodically strip.

"Whoa!" said Dean. "Not that I'm complaining, don't get me wrong, but -"

Castiel rolled his eyes and for some reason, this made Dean swoon a little.

"For my wings," Cas explained. "And the nest."

"Oh. Right."

Castiel shucked off his suit coat and unbuttoned his shirt.

Dean's mouth went dry.

He took the tie off as well, shoes and socks, pants too.

He crawled into the nest wearing only black, tight underwear and Dean couldn't stop staring, at the way his muscles moved, that _this was Cas - !_

Castiel sat in the middle of the nest, and with a _crack,_ those grand wings spread out wide.

They came to settle, around Castiel, in the nest.

"The nest is acceptable," confirmed Castiel, and the wall between them broke.

Dean was climbing across everything to pull Castiel close and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him again, until Castiel's blue eyes were a little hazy with it, blinking at him.

"Never leave me again," Dean growled. " _Never_ do that again, Cas, you hear me?"

Castiel stared at him.

"But I did it to save you," said Castiel. "To save those people who were being killed."

"Damn it, Cas, when this shit happens, we figure it out," said Dean, pressing his forehead to Castiel's. "You got that? We figure it out _together._ "

He sighed, he kissed Castiel again, as if he couldn't get enough of the angel's lips, and maybe that was true.

"Thing is, they didn't stop, Cas," said Dean. "The angels are taking my memories, piece by piece. I don't remember - stuff I should remember, Cas! People I - I - "

Dean sighed on an exhale.

"People I loved," he said, feeling more stark naked than he ever had clothed. "And you were gone, Cas, and they just _kept killing -_ "

Cas shook his head then.

"No, they did not do that."

Dean pulled back to look at him.

"What the hell d'you mean?" he demanded. "'Course they did, otherwise why can't I remember - them?"

"Oh, they certainly _told_ you they were going to do that," said Cas. "But I think in the end they convinced themselves that... _pruning_ certain memories from your mind would be the best approach. No need to harm innocents."

"No need to harm innocents?" asked Dean in disbelief. "What about all the drifters?"

"Drifters are disobedient to the social structure by nature," said Cas. "I think they felt it was some kind of poetic justice."

"What, for not keeping in line, not climbing the corporate ladder?"

"Something like that."

"Gotta tell you, Cas. Your family sucks."

"Yours isn't much better."

"Hey!"

"With the exception of Sam, of course."

"Anyway, why the hell would angels want to, uh, trim my memories or whatever?"

Castiel gave Dean a long, slow blink.

"I assume because if you were already having trouble with accepting your attraction to men, if they got rid of any memory that told you to accept yourself that way, you'd have a much harder time," said Castiel, and Dean could hear the emotion in his voice, "accepting your attraction to me, who is both a man and not a man and so much more."

Dean took Castiel's hand and squeezed it.

"Well, can you give 'em back?" asked Dean. "The memories."

"I don't know," Castiel replied, and laid a cool palm on Dean's forehead.

He winced.

"What? What is it?"

"There are - well. Not all these memories are positive, Dean. Are you sure -"

"Sure I'm sure," said Dean, bracing for impact. "And is there any way you can maybe ward my mind, keep those bastards outta there like you did my ribs before? I don't know how angels can find me."

"You drive a very obvious vehicle," Castiel said, and Dean surprised himself by laughing.

"Go on, Castiel," said Dean. "I want it all. Good, bad. Most of all, I don't wanna lose you. Even if all I get outta this are memories."

"Very well," said Cas.

And he pressed his hand hard against Dean's forehead.

A cool rush of sensation flooded Dean, like his mind was being filled up, like coffee pouring into a saucer.

And suddenly -

there it all was, neat as a pin -

those first curious feelings about guys. Achille and Angel, José on that long-ago Mexican beach, the love and the potential there -

and those truck-stop interludes where Dean had courted disaster more than once -

but most of all, and best of all-

his blessed memories of Castiel, memories he hadn't even realized he'd lost, because whatever angels had been working him over had been very sneaky with the things they were removing until it might have been too late.

"Good?" asked Castiel, and there was a note of terror in his voice.

Dean looked at him and smiled.

"We're good," he said. "And - "

"There's more?"

"Yes, Cas, there's more," said Dean, taking both of his hands in his own. "There's always gonna be more, if you want it. Okay? Now hear me out."

"Okay."


	80. Sugar Make It Slow And We'll Come Together Fine

"Look, I know we got into this in a pretty unorthodox way," Dean began. "And I'm kinda going about this backwards, I know that too. Where'd you go, anyway? When you ran off."

"I was brooding."

"You were brooding."

"Yes. I do that."

"Brooding where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Cas."

"Fine. I was brooding on a deserted island in Maritius."

"Wow, not even any cocktails for you, huh?"

"I was doing penance."

"For what?"

"For the pain that my involvement in your life has caused you."

"The pain that - screw that, Cas, just 'cause your family sucks don't mean it's your fault!"

"And when have you ever thought your family's actions weren't _your_ fault?"

Dean laughed a little at that.

"Y'know what," he said. "We're a coupla idiots with a martyr complex, you know that?"

Castiel nodded seriously.

"That seems like an accurate assessment."

"Now, look," said Dean, finally gearing himself up. "I built you this nest for a reason, okay?"

"And that is?"

"Cas," said Dean, taking a deep breath. "I want us to be together. Like. Together-together. And I think we're both gonna have to change a little bit to do it. Grow up, at least on my part. Learn some new ways of coping, on yours. Our first port of call should be each other, Cas, and failing that, Sam. That's family."

"Are you asking me to be your family?"

"Shit, Cas, you're already family," said Dean. "I'm asking, I'm offering, _commitment._ If. If - you want it, Cas, it's right here for the taking."

"Are you saying," ground out Castiel, "that you want me to be your boyfriend?"

Dean let out some kind of girlish, overexcited sound like an overheated kettle that sounded way too much like _tee hee_ and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth where he could feel the skin going warm beneath his touch.

"I - you," said Dean. "If you. Uh."

He was grinning so hard it was hurting his face but he couldn't seem to stop it.

Castiel was just _looking_ at him, serious and serene.

Dean managed to get his shit together a little.

Then Cas said:

"Ask me to stay. You never do."

"C'mon, Cas, you know I'm always tellin' you to stop leavin' -"

"That's not the same thing."

Dean grew serious then, too.

He pulled Castiel close. The angel's wings flapped a little as he was hauled over as close as Dean could get him.

"Castiel," said Dean. "Angel of the Lord."

He kissed Castiel gently, pouring all his love and longing and desire into that simple act.

He pulled back, leaving Cas dizzy and breathless and hopeful.

"Stay."


	81. Let's Give 'Em Something To Talk About

"Why'd you go to Mauritius?" asked Dean. "Why not heaven?"

"I can't go back to heaven," said Castiel quietly. "I can't go home."

"Hey, hey, Cas," said Dean, cradling his face. "You _are_ home, you got that? Your home is here with us. Right here. With me."

Castiel smiled, and Dean's heart melted.

"Are you going to be all right?" Cas asked. "All those memories - some were very bad ones."

"Yeah, because you know what?" said Dean. "All those memories led me to you. They made this possible, okay? The guys who loved me, the guys I loved, hell, even the bad memories when things went sideways. That all sucks, don't get me wrong. It really does. People are bastards. But you know what? I can deal, Cas, because all of that brought me right here. All of it. Here to you."

"I don't know what to say," said Castiel. "Dean, you have given me such a gift. It was nothing like destiny foretold."

"I like this better than destiny," Dean said, kissing Castiel's knuckles. "Love based on free will. Choosing each other, every damn day. It's gonna take work. But it'll be the good kind."

He sighed.

"Man, it's still a little weird, ya know," said Dean. "Maybe it'll get less weird in time, but. I can't believe I get to have this. That _we_ get to have this."

He looked up.

Cas's gaze was predatory, filled with intent.

"I wish to mount you now, Dean."

Dean blinked.

"If you'll consent."

"Huh. 'Course I consent, Cas. Wow. _That's_ never not gonna be weird."

"Dean. I said _now._ "

"Hey whoa okay - _whoa!_ " Dean shouted as Cas pushed him down on his front and simultaneously pulled down his jeans. 

"Let me know if anything is not to your liking," Castiel said in a rough growl.

He was making that whirring, purring noise, total contentment, a sound that Dean now associated with patience in victory and conquest. 

He pawed at Dean, holding him dead still with one hand and exploring him with the other.

Tonight, it seemed, Castiel wanted to draw things out.

His fingertips grazed over Dean's cockhead, and Dean whimpered as a little spurt of precome answered Castiel's touch.

"I love how you open yourself to me," Castiel murmured. "So submissive. So perfect."

Dean was making sounds that he didn't realize he was capable of making.

"Holding you here at the precipice," Castiel whispered as he slid deep inside him, holding him up against his body as he thrust slowly into Dean, "is intoxicating. You intoxicate me, Dean."

Another powerful thrust, Cas on his knees, Dean braced in front of him with his jeans and boxers down to his knees, otherwise fully clothed, and held in strong arms as Castiel's wings flared high and wide behind him.

"I should like to have a mirror, so you could watch yourself, see your beauty in release," Castiel murmured into his ear, love etched into his skin, like a handprint, like a brand. "You are so, so beautiful, Dean."

Dean had lost his power of speech and just let Castiel bring him close to the edge and then recede, like ocean waves on a long beach, until Dean was a quivering mess of need.

"So sensitive for me," said Castiel, brushing his hand against Dean's throat. "So perfect in your trust. So _loud_ , my love."

Dean's garbled moans tripped and fell over his lips like water over a waterfall, now that there was nothing holding them in anymore, as he gave himself over fully to Castiel, again and again and again, like he was made new each and every time, with each gentle touch and hard thrust as a counterpoint, his body wrapped entirely up in Cas, Cas, Cas -

"Should you wish to breed, one day," said Castiel, serious as ever, "I would be honored."

Dean gasped in shock and was suddenly coming on a surprised shout. His cock kicked with it, almost painful, and he felt like he would never stop.

But eventually, it did subside, and he slumped against Castiel, exhausted.

He relaxed against the angel, his head dropped back onto his shoulder, as Castiel held him securely, Dean's back against his chest.

"Apparently, talk of fledglings is what does it for _you_ ," said Castiel, low and wicked, with what Dean could only imagine must be a shit-eating grin, as he could feel the curve of Cas's lips against his cheek and ear.

Great, now he was _weeping._

"Dean? Are you all right?"

Love-drunk and boneless, Dean collapsed into the nest as Castiel curled around him and covered him with his wings.

"Just," Dean muttered. "Like the idea of a family. With you. Cas. My angel."

He pet the feathers of the wing closest to him, and grinned in childlike delight when they puffed up under his hand.

And Castiel, smiling indulgently down at him.

"Rest now, little mate," he said. "One thing at a time."

As if he had been waiting for Castiel's permission, or the soporific effects of those wings, Dean conked out immediately, in the warmth and safety of their nest.

***

"Hi, Sam."

Sam looked up from the map table at Dean and Castiel, standing shy and defiant in front of him.

"So you're together."

"An astute guess."

"I - _a-hem!_ " Sam cleared his throat. "I kind of already knew."

"Knew?" Dean repeated. "How'd you know?"

"You're not exactly quiet, Dean. I grew up in motels with you, remember? The number of times I've seen your bare ass - anyway. Let's just say I, uh, _recognized_ you."

Dean, flustered, waved a hand around hoping that words would arrive to help him out but they never did.

"We're together now, Sam," said Castiel. "Is that all right with you?"

Sam gave Cas a puzzled look.

"Is it _all right_ with me?" he asked. "No more staring, tension you could cut with a knife? That's fucking _fantastic,_ Cas."

"I cannot guarantee that there will not be staring," said Castiel. "Your brother's soul is very beautiful, and he makes such delightful -"

"Stop that sentence right now, Cas," said Sam, holding up a hand. "I get the point. Just - try to keep it down, okay? I don't want to have to move to another bunker."

At this comment, Dean looked up. 

He had the fragment of an idea, but -

_One thing at a time._

"I'm happy for you guys," said Sam. 

"Great," said Dean. "Me too."

"So if that's taken care of, you guys ready to get back to work?"

They were still Heaven's most wanted, and when weren't they, really, plus they still hadn't figured out the black-eyed kids and it was open season on the Winchesters.

There was plenty of work to do.

"Yeah," said Dean. "Hit me."

"Yes, of course, Sam," said Castiel.

They sat down together, still holding hands.

Sam grinned, and then mercifully let it go.

"So get this..."

END OF PART I.


	82. Castiel's Favorite Traxx

1\. _Please Forgive Me -_ Bryan Adams

2\. _I Would Do Anything For Love -_ Meat Loaf

3\. _Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word -_ Elton John

4\. _When You Say Nothing at All_ \- Keith Whitley  


5\. _I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues -_ Elton John

6\. _The Devil's Backbone_ \- The Civil Wars

7\. _Patience -_ Guns N Roses

8\. _I Can't Fight This Feeling_ \- REO Speedwagon

9\. _Everything I Do -_ Bryan Adams

10\. _Losing My Religion -_ REM

11\. _Objects in the Rearview Mirror -_ Meat Loaf

12\. _Iris -_ GooGoo Dolls

13\. _Unchained Melody -_ The Righteous Brothers

14\. _Your Song -_ Elton John

15\. _How Do You Talk to an Angel? -_ The Heights

16\. _You Better Kiss Me -_ Brooks & Dunn

17\. _Life is a Highway -_ Tom Cochrane

18\. _Daniel -_ Elton John

19\. _Self-Esteem -_ The Offspring

20\. _All For One -_ Bryan Adams


	83. Author's Note for Part I

Hi everyone, I hope you've been enjoying the story! I wanted to pause here at the end of the first part and say hello.

As I've mentioned before, I'm a drifter. And as a drifter, I wanted to address both our lifestyle and also the rich multicultural diversity of the United States.

That said, I'm fairly old now and much of these chapters are pulled from real-life experience of places, although it's been years since I've been in some of them, so I'm a little rusty. America can change rapidly, gain and lose things, neighborhoods change over time. So keep in mind this story is based on decades of road life and might not be all that up to date in places :)

We're not anywhere near finished with this story, and it will take some time to tell. There's so much to the USA, whether it's food or history or culture, and I'd like to share an authentic take on it with all of you.

Enjoy the ride! ;)


	84. Young Guns II - Then

"Okay, Sam. March is over."

"And?"

"We gotta go."

"Why, Dean? Why do we have to go?" Sam folded his arms. "Is it because of Sadie?"

Dean gave her a look of longing, but she'd long since moved on. A couple of weeks isn't too long for some people, as he knew very well himself.

"No, it's just," Dean said, and knew he didn't really have an answer to the end of that sentence.

"We don't have to just keep going all the damned time!" Sam said. "Why don't _you_ go, and I'll stay right here."

"Because Dad's gonna find us, Sam," said Dean. "Do you want that? I stuck it out here because you wanted to stay for a month. The month's over. We stayed way too long as it is."

"You just miss the road."

It was true. Dean's palms itched for it, the steering wheel beneath his hands, the open road.

Freedom.

"Either way, it's still true about Dad," Dean argued. "He's bound to figure it out eventually, okay? He's not stupid."

"Yeah, I know," said Sam.

"So do you wanna get dragged back into hunting, or do you wanna keep moving so we can have this year to ourselves?" Dean asked. 

Sam glanced outside at the crowds passing on Bourbon Street and sighed.

"You know the answer to that question," he said, crabby. "Fine. I just wish - "

"I know," said Dean. "Someday, Sammy. Someday."

"Whatever you say," said Sam, and went to tell Sadie he was leaving for good.

***

Dean offered Sam the option of choosing where to go, because he felt bad.

"You said we could go to Evans Plunge and the Cosmos and then we didn't," Sam grumped.

"You want to go to South Dakota in _March?_ " Dean said. "Not, I don't know, somewhere warm?"

Sam folded his arms.

"Fine," Dean said. "South Dakota it is."

***

The thing about the road is, it's _long._

Unless you've driven it, there are aspects of it that are hard to communicate.

There's _nothing out there,_ oases of neon lights, the great vast emptiness of the bowl of the world.

The sound of the car. The silence, the silence, the silence.

Dean fiddled with the radio until he found NPR, on every long stretch of highway.

Especially when Sam was sleeping, it was good to hear a voice.

Any voice.

The occasional stop for gas and food, abrupt and bright and filled with people -

or strangely lonely, like Dean and Sam and the cashier were the last people on earth.

If they disappeared out there, nobody would know, and they wouldn't ever be found.

The road is a place for vanishing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Young Guns II_ is the best.


	85. A Fistful of Dollars - Now

"Cas. Cas, c'mere and try this."

Dean waited for Cas to come around the corner into the kitchen, where he brought a wooden spoon up to his mouth.

"What is it?"

"Tomato soup," said Dean. "I made you grilled cheese sandwiches, too."

"I thought you liked it when I made you grilled cheese sandwiches."

"C'mon, just try it."

Cas took a tentative sip off the spoon.

"Pleasant molecules," was his verdict. 

Dean beamed.

"Trick is, ginger _and_ cumin, some curry powder," Dean said. "I also tried making these different grilled cheese sandwiches, some have mayonnaise, some don't. I personally don't like mayonnaise on 'em but Sam digs it, so."

"I do not," said Sam, who had just walked in the door.

"I also made BLTs," said Dean.

"Did you use up all the bread?" Sam asked, pulling his earbuds out.

"I wanted to see what Cas liked best so I could make you guys lunch," Dean said defensively.

"Not sure I want bacon -"

"I also made plain grilled cheese."

"Awesome," said Sam, plating them up for himself and taking some soup. "Thanks, Dean."

"Here, Cas," said Dean. "What kinds do you wanna try? I cut them up in triangles for you."

"Is their shape important?"

"Hell yeah."

"Why?"

"Just try them, Cas."

"All right."

Cas preferred the BLT because it gave a "satisfyingly angry sound". He wasn't too certain about the melted cheese, despite Dean's insistence that melted cheese was one of the four American food groups.

"Thank you for lunch, Dean," Castiel said. "I should like to return the favor."

"I don't think I could eat another bite," said Dean.

"That's not what I meant," said Castiel. "There's what you're good at, and then what _I'm_ good at."

"What do you -" Dean began, as Castiel clapped him on the shoulder and the sound of wind and feathers filled the air.

Dean found himself standing in a beautiful room, all windows, overlooking a white sand beach the blue ocean. Seagulls wheeled in the sky. 

The floor was worn, dark wood. The bed was enormous and soft.

The entire place gave the sense of quiet flight.

"Where are we?" asked Dean, impressed.

"A studio apartment on a beach in the Bahamas," said Castiel.

"Shit, Cas," said Dean, a little breathless. "I ain't never gettin' used to this. Not ever."

"Good," said Castiel, kissing him.

"Now," said Dean, "cooking's not the only thing I'm good at, Cas."

"Yes, you're a very good hunter," said Cas.

"Not what I meant, Cas," murmured Dean. "Get on the bed."

Dean had to psych himself up a little.

_I can do this. I can do this for Cas._

_This is how we change._

Dean had never shown the extremely sensual side of himself to any man, and very very rarely, any woman. The part of him that ached for love to fill every corner of his being. The part of him that wanted to be taken care of as much as he enjoyed taking care of others.

 _Sex_ wasn't the scary part.

 _This_ was.

Cas was laying naked on his stomach, on the bed. His huge, black wings were out, folding down toward the floor, a marked contrast to the bright sunlight, the white-sand and turquoise water outside. Cas's tanned body and his muscular form in the soft white down of the comforter piled up around him, sleepy-eyed as he looked back over his shoulder at Dean, from where he was holding a pillow to his chest -

if Dean had been a painter, or a sculptor, or a photographer, or a filmmaker -

he would have found a way to immortalize the image in front of him.

But Dean was none of those things, so he would just have to remember.

He was brave, he kept telling himself.

He was _brave._ He could do this.

He could -

let go.

_Castiel would never let you fall._

Dean went to the bed, hesitant, and then crawled over Castiel.

He laid soft, reverent kisses, scattered across his back, the winegoblet dimples above his ass, up Castiel's spine.

He found where the wings fit to Castiel's back, and lavished kisses there, alternating between the gentle pressure of his lips and the curious exploration of his tongue, trying to coax the oil out from the feathers.

He kept his eyes fastened to Castiel's back, because it was going to be much easier to do this when he didn't have to look Cas in the eye.

"God, I love you, Cas," Dean murmured softly, so soft he wasn't sure whether Castiel had heard it - 

but then, he was rewarded with the first slow trickle of oil, as Castiel relaxed into the bed as if Dean were giving him some kind of massage.

"Thought about you for a long time," Dean murmured. "God, your fuckin' _eyes,_ they look like the ocean, Cas. Sometimes it was all I could think about. I wanted us to be together for _ages._ I wanted this, I wanted you -"

He shuddered on a sigh, and felt Castiel sigh too, and his body undulate on a soft, slow roll like the breakers outside on the sand.

"I want to know all of you," said Dean. "I want to be with _you_ , Castiel, the Angel, even if it burns out my eyes. I love you, Cas. So much."

Tears were coming now, but Dean figured they would, as he pressed himself against his angel and ground down against him, over and over, soft and slow and sure.

"You were _always_ wanted," said Dean. "I wanted you around _so bad._ I'm kind of an idiot, no good with emotions, especially when I got too much of 'em, it's like a traffic jam and things break down. But I never felt the way I feel when I'm with you - before all this, before - everything. I want everything you are, Cas, no matter _what_ you are, and I don't know how to make love to a giant winged concentric circle but damn it, I'm gonna try my best."

"Oh, _Dean,_ " sighed Cas, and rolled again, with the waves and the wind. "I love you, too."

"Tell me I'm good," whispered Dean, those fateful words that had made girls run screaming from him in the past, when he no longer had the strength to hold the macho facade together.

Castiel's wings lifted from the floor and pressed up and in against him.

"You are good," Castiel assured him. "You are the best man I have ever known, in all these billions of years. I love you beyond sense or reason. You are my paradise, Dean Winchester."

With a choked sob, Dean dropped his forehead to Castiel's shoulder and kept grinding against him, murmuring, " _love you - love you - love you - love you -_ " in a fierce little chant.

"Yes, Dean," said Cas, and "always, Dean," and when Dean came it was like he was shattering, shattering, and he marveled at how easily he broke -

and how readily Castiel turned with a soft kiss to put him back together again.

"Did you -"

"When I said I loved you," Castiel confirmed.

Dean gaped at him. 

"That was enough?"

"Dean," said Castiel with a soft, sleepy smile. "That's always been enough."

They slept, then, with the sound of the waves and the wind and the gulls wheeling in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's beach apartment is located on Lucaya Beach, Freeport, Grand Bahama Island.
> 
> The Bahamas aren't the USA, but they are America-adjacent, and many drifters spend their late-winter months working in the Gulf or the Caribbean, usually aboard boats.


	86. Once Upon A Time In The West - Then

"Oh my God, the Mall of America!"

Dean glanced over at his brother.

"You okay over there, Alicia?"

"Can we go?"

"I thought you wanted to go to Evans Plunge."

"Can't we do both?"

"Sam, what the hell?" asked Dean. "I didn't think you were into all that crap."

"I'm not, usually," said Sam. "But c'mon, Dean, it's the biggest mall in the States! _You'd_ love it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

Then he sighed.

"All right, you little capitalist. But we're going to the Mystery Area afterwards."

"Deal."

***

The Mall of America was like nothing Dean had ever seen before in his entire life.

It dwarfed him, and kind of scared him a little bit.

He parked the car in the pineapple section because he'd always wanted to go to Hawaii and wasn't sure he'd ever make it there, what with his fear of flying and all.

"This better be good," he warned his brother.

Sam, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted.

"The architecture of this place is _amazing_ ," said Sam, chattering away at his brother's side. "96 acres, and the mall isn't heated even in the winter, because it's warm enough with all the people inside it. Did you know it has a helicopter pad?!"

Dean wasn't sure what to think. There were people _everywhere_ and he couldn't keep track of them.

Inside the mall, there was too much to look at. Glass elevators, stacked floors, and what looked like an entire _theme park_ in the middle.

Dean stood there trying to look at everything at once, a little lost and bewildered.

"Come on," said Sam, and dragged Dean down the hall.

***

Dean stood on one of the glass bridges across the mall and felt a strange thudding vibration.

"Is this - should we be worried about this?" Dean asked.

"That's just the footfall," Sam explained.

"There's enough people in here that it's making the floor vibrate?" asked Dean.

"Yeah."

"Man, give me open skies and the road any day," said Dean.

"Wow, this place is really getting to you, huh?" asked Sam.

"I'm fine."

"Okay."

"I am!"

"Okay."

But then it got too loud and there were too many people, and Dean couldn't keep an eye on them all. He had backed into a corner and the world looked like it was caving in. He could hear himself breathing and feel his heartbeat as the mall in front of him yawed crazily outward like a tunnel.

"Shit, Dean, are you okay?"

"Gotta - can we go back to the car?"

"Sure, yeah."

And he had to let Sam lead him, because he was dizzy from everything, and they found themselves in the quiet of the parking garage where Dean put his hands on the Impala's cool hood and just breathed, loud and harsh, as he stared down at the blackness in front of him avoiding his own reflection.

Eventually, he looked up at Sam, whose face looked drained and guilty.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean asked. "I can take on ghosts and shit but a fucking _mall_ \- ?"

Sam's eyes were like dishplates, and he slowly shrugged.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Has that ever happened before?"

Dean shook his head, embarrassed and miserable.

"You want to go someplace else?"

"Yeah," said Dean. "I think so."

***

An hour later, they were sitting at the Ideal Diner, which Sam had heard was one of the best.

Dean was back in his element of small town America in a big city, and happily enjoying some coffee and bacon at the long counter.

"You, uh," said Sam gently. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not right now," said Dean, which in his vocabulary meant _how about never._

"Yeah, okay," said Sam.

Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him, curious, until they finished their food and Dean was back in the driver's seat of the Impala, back on the road.

"You want to visit Bobby while we're in South Dakota?" Sam finally asked.

"No way, you think that's gonna keep Dad off our trail?"

"I don't think Bobby would tell him."

"Don't matter. He'd show up there, sure as shit."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Maybe we could stop by and say hi to Tracy."

"Never hit the same town twice, Sam," Dean reminded him. "That's what Dad said."

"Yeah," said Sam bitterly. "Dad says a lot of things that mean we can't have friends."

"That's the life, Sam."

"And that's why I'm leaving it."

 _That's why I'm leaving **you** , _Dean heard.

The atmosphere in the car was gloomy, and instead of continuing the conversation, Dean just kept driving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ideal Diner is amazing. The Mall of America is just as terrifying as it sounds.


	87. The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly - Now

Dean's hand was on Castiel's chest and the angel looking down at him with those ocean blues.

"I can't believe we're here," murmured Dean, smiling.

"The Bahamas are beautiful," said Castiel.

"Not that," Dean said, "I mean, you and me."

Castiel sighed.

"Yes," he agreed. "I never thought this would happen. That I would just love you, alone, forever."

Dean propped himself up on an elbow.

"Yeah?" he asked. "How long, Cas?"

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "Your soul in hell was quite beautiful, but we didn't know each other then. I was still a soldier. A warrior. I think...it must have happened little by little. And then - it was like it had always been there. A universal truth."

"I'm not sure when it was for me either," Dean said. "It started out different for me - I was scared, I was turned on, man, you are _hot_ when you get all smitey. But, I don't know. This life, and the times I've tried for anything before, and you're not human so I had no idea whether anything like this was even possible."

"So we've been yearning for each other for years, it seems."

"Yeah, guess so," Dean said, hiding his face behind a curve of Castiel's wing. "We're pretty fuckin' stupid."

"I found this world so confusing," Castiel said. "I was alone, the only one of my kind, for so long. Living among creatures that were nothing like me, with a different culture and language. Especially you - I found you infernally difficult to understand, the way you talk. But there was something irresistible about you. Some kind of pull. I just - always wanted to be near you, as close as I could - and I didn't really understand why."

Castiel pulled him close.

"Even now, it isn't close enough," Castiel said, and Dean closed his eyes as he felt that low rumble vibrate in Castiel's chest. "I did learn about you, when I rebuilt you, Dean. And although I didn't understand the sentiment then, I can tell you now with confidence: _I_ love you most. And _I_ love you best. And you will always, forever, have that - as a seal upon your heart, and a seal upon your arm, beloved."

"Wow," said Dean. "When you say shit like that I have no idea what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," said Castiel. 

"You said - uh. Before. You said that they thought it was wrong, you loving me."

"Yes," Castiel said. "They tried to iron it out of me. Not just with you - I was apparently always something of a loose cannon. But I don't remember."

"What? They stole your memories, too?"

"Yes. I assume that was what they were doing to you as well. Conversion therapy, I hear they call it."

Dean gave Cas a disgusted look.

"Guess there was some heavenly basis for some of the shit that people try to pull down here," said Dean. "I'm sorry, Cas."

"I'm sorry, too," said Castiel. "If it hadn't been for me, you wouldn't have had to suffer like I did."

"Dude, if it wasn't for you," said Dean, "I would never have known that I was someone worth loving."

Castiel started.

"What about Sam?"

"Sam's my brother," said Dean. "That's kind of baked into the relationship. This, though? This is all freedom and choice. But I don't want you to lose your wings again over me."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that," said Castiel. "Angels cannot really be changed from their true nature. Grace can be captured and traded, angels can fall. They can rip out their grace. But no one can fundamentally change my angelic nature, any more than anyone could make you not human."

"Vampires," said Dean.

"That doesn't really change your essence," said Castiel. "Vampires are human, at their core."

"Well, Cas, you're not gonna be alone anymore," Dean promised. "Not as long as you want me around."

"I can guarantee the same," Castiel smiled.

"Not gonna lie, though," said Dean. "This is all new to me. Expressing emotions, being raw and vulnerable, all that shit."

"I appreciate that you care for me enough to see over the high wall of your masculinity."

"Hey," said Dean, giving him a playful smack. "It's all about trust, man, and you gotta know that I ain't got a lot of experience with that."

"Would you like to explore it?" Castiel asked carefully.

"What do you mean?"

"Well...I am aware that there are things you keep quiet, things you want," Castiel said softly.

"You mean like watching my best friend get himself off in secret?" asked Dean, giving Cas a guilty look.

Castiel laughed.

"Your apparent penchant for voyeurism aside," he said, "I was thinking more along the lines of things you haven't shared with _anyone._ "

Dean swallowed.

He looked Cas in the eye.

"You mean like kink exploration."

Castiel nodded.

"So you - you know about -"

"I rebuilt you, Dean. I know all of you."

"Um."

"I'd like you to know all of me, too."

"Yeah?"

"You're not the only one with predilections."

Dean grinned.

"Now we're talkin'."

***

The hours passed as if time did not exist. Dean had read about that kind of experience with a lover, but had never had it himself.

Not until now.

He couldn't believe he'd spent such a long time just _talking,_ pausing only for a bite to eat.

But as the sun began to sink into the distant clouds, the real world infringed upon them again.

"Cas, this is awesome," said Dean. "But we've still got a lot on our plate and Sam's all by himself back home."

Castiel looked out the window at the sky turning a riotous color of orange and pink.

He nodded grudgingly.

"You're right," he said. "Let's go home."

And with a hand on his shoulder, palm pressed against that old handprint brand, Castiel's eyes dancing with something possessive and sweet, the Bahamas disappeared and the bunker materialized around them.

"Home sweet home," said Dean, turning around to see Sam's laptop open on the table but Sam himself nowhere in sight.

"Sam?" called Dean. "Sam!!"

Panic began to rise in his chest, _I shouldn't have left him alone what am I doing I'm a terrible brother_ -

when Sam came around the corner toweling his hair.

"Oh, hey guys," said Sam.

"When somebody's calling your name, you answer!" Dean burst out, in order to cover his terror.

"What?" asked Sam, looking from Dean to Cas with an uncertain expression. "Sorry, guess it was the towel around my head."

"Girl," Dean spat out, clomping over to a chair and throwing himself into it.

"How are you, Sam?" asked Castiel pleasantly.

Sam raised an eyebrow and looked at his brother stewing away in thwarted vigilantism.

"Uh, fine?" he said. "Thought he'd come back a little more relaxed after your vacation, though."

"I can hear you, Sam," said Dean testily.

"I know," said Sam. "Anyway, maybe this will cheer you up. Looks like we've got a hunt."

"Why the hell would that cheer me up?" Dean groused, mentally telling himself to chill the fuck out, Sam was fine, it was _okay_ if he did some things for himself, damn it!

"Because it's in Hawai'i."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's vernacular, whether by accident or design, is a fantastic example of exactly the way drifters talk to each other. That sense of older media references, the overuse of 'ain't' and 'awesome' along with a variety of other speech patterns, is something that developed over many, many years. It is common practice to insult this way of speaking because it is so very evidently American underclass working class. This means that even the American working class looks down on us because at least they are educated enough not to say things like 'ain't' or use double negatives, at least when in polite company. The intersection of this classist attitude with racism should also be extremely apparent. 
> 
> This method of communication is something I have actively chosen to maintain, up to the point that someone who had read one of my published novels said that they "couldn't believe I had written anything, given how I talk". Correcting grammar and acting like speech patterns indicate anything about someone's intelligence is indicative of such an incredible amount of sexism (using 'like' all the time - often gendered, often classist), racism (various aspects of AAVE are part and parcel of any American working class dialect regardless of skin color or place of origin, because at that level of society and particularly at the drifter level, everybody works with everybody else - no atheists in foxholes, no racists on the road), and classism (any and all correction of grammar in this fashion is an elitist take), that it's hidden these American issues within the context of language itself. Yes, I write like an academic. But I talk like a drifter, because that's what I am - and so is Dean. And he's smarter than people take him for, which is also part of the charm of talking like a drifter. Never underestimate a man's ability to underestimate a woman, as Donna's hero says - and drifters use that same reasoning to disarm and charm. This is one of the reasons that Dean reads as so realistic to me, as a drifter.
> 
> One of the most fascinating separations between Sam and Dean in the early seasons was Sam's honestly more elitist vocabulary and manner of speaking, as if he was speaking a sort of American RP, despite their growing up together in exactly the same lifestyle. Sam should by rights share Dean's accent and speech patterns, but he doesn't - presumably because he went to university and had it ironed out of him. Dean's accent, speech patterns, references, and mannerisms remain the same throughout, and are a pitch-perfect example of the drifter/hobo underclass way of speaking. This is frequently made fun of and put down a lot because those who don't live that lifestyle often have a hard time following it, because it sounds 'lowbrow' or 'stupid' to people who don't understand that when you live on the road and need to communicate with a wide variety of people who also live there, you need to share a common tongue - and this is it.


	88. For A Few Dollars More - Then

Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala and crossed his arms.

They'd finally made it back to Hot Springs, and Sam had gone into Evans Plunge with all evidence of excited enjoyment.

 _Let him have his fun,_ thought Dean, still in a weird state of mind where he didn't want any walls closing in around him after what had happened at the Mall of America.

Suddenly, a plaid Thermos was shoved in front of his face and wiggled.

"Sad white man," sang a voice. "Take this offering of a Thermos and a grilled cheese sandwich?"

Dean looked up.

"Tracy?" he asked. "Damn it. I told Sam not to call."

"Yeah, and he did anyway," said Tracy, hopping up on the hood of the Impala next to him. "You better eat that, I had Dolly make it special."

Dean opened the styrofoam container.

There was a grilled cheese sandwich inside, still warm, cut into triangles.

"Why's it cut into triangles?" he asked.

"Because it means love, asshole," said Tracy happily. "You dip them into the tomato soup. Ain't you never had a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup before?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean," Dean began. "I had to make it out of ketchup packets and hot water sometimes for Sam."

Tracy wrinkled her nose.

"Gross," she said helpfully. "Eat up, sad white man. And tell me why you wanna throw our friendship in the gutter you've apparently been sleeping in."

Dean gave her a look.

"You sure know how to butter a guy up."

"Eat it or I punch you in the nose, how bout that, Dean Winchester?"

"Fine," he said.

He dipped the grilled cheese into the soup and took a bite.

"Damn," he said. "And I mean this when I say it: _damn._ "

"I'll let Dolly know," said Tracy. "Now comes how you pay me back. What's goin' on with you, Dean?"

Dean sighed, as he ate his sandwich and the soup.

"Dad said we should never hit the same town twice," he confessed. "He said you can't have friends in this life, not really."

"Oh, so back when you wanted to bang, that was a hit-it-and-quit-it situation?" she said. "Nice. How many girls you leave pregnant and/or with an STD up and down this fine nation, Dean Winchester?"

Dean's eyes bugged out at her. She shrugged and giggled.

"Never crossed your mind before?" she asked. "Dangers of bein' a playboy, son."

"Don't you _son_ me, you're my age," said Dean.

"I'll say whatever I want to you, sad white man," she told him. "Sam said somethin' happened to you at the big mall. Wanna tell me about it?"

Dean finished the sandwich and wiped the crumbs on his old, worn-out jeans. 

"Yeah sure I guess," he said. "It was the weirdest thing. I couldn't keep my eye on everybody, you know? Too many people. Enclosed space. Even with my back to the wall. And then it all went funny. I ain't one for anxiety or anythin' like it, I mean I hunt monsters for a living, Trace."

Tracy whistled.

"Man, did your dad ever do a number on you," she said. "Hypervigilance. PTSD. Ring a bell?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with my head."

"The fact that you experienced that, and then said that? Dean, there are men who returned from war pretending nothin' was wrong for the rest of their damned lives while trapped in a nightmare in their own heads."

"Yeah, and what am I gonna do about it?" asked Dean. "Ain't like I can go to no therapist or nothin', sit on some headshrink's couch for a hundred bucks an hour."

"You can have friends, and keep 'em," said Tracy. "You can't carry the weight by yourself, and you don't need to."

Dean stared out blankly at his surroundings without really seeing them.

"Yeah, okay," he said quietly.

"What's that?" Tracy teased.

"Yeah, okay," he said a little louder. "Maybe you're right."

"I am right," she said. "And somethin' else I figured - dunno. Solomon gave me this to give to you."

She handed him a little card with an address on it in Duluth, Minnesota.

"What's this for?"

"Dad says you'll know when you get there."

"We just left Minnesota."

"Not this part, you didn't. Go up instead of down. You're a drifter, ain't ya?"

"Well, yeah, but - "

"Just trust me," said Tracy. "Or, trust dad, anyway."

"What is it?" asked Dean. "What's there?"

"A mystery to solve," said Tracy, winking.

"Aw, c'mon."

"Nope," she said with a grin. "You're gonna find out all on your own. But just know this - you got friends in this world, Dean. Not just your brother. And frankly that's a little weird, what you've got goin' on there, hope it ain't no Flowers in the Attic kinda thing."

"What the fuck, no!" Dean yelped. Tracy raised her hands in a placating way.

"Look, you two just kinda ooze dysfunctional relationship," she said. "And don't even get me started on your dad, all right? I care about you, because I'm your _friend._ And you know what friends do?"

"Not stick their nose where it doesn't belong?"

"Watch your tongue, sad white man, or I'll cut it outta your head," said Tracy sternly.

"Sorry."

"Anyway, no. Friends call you out on your bullshit, and they also listen. They let you know you ain't alone. Got it?"

Dean nodded.

"Got it."

"And this door swings both ways, by the way," she said. "That means you listen to _me,_ and I get to lean on _you._ "

And she leaned against his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling her warmth seep into him through his jacket.

They sat like that quietly for a while, as Dean finished the soup, and the world started to look a little sharper, bright and clear.

Finally he looked over at her.

"You wanna go swimming?"

"Do I fuckin' ever!"

They hopped off the Impala's hood and walked to the door of Evans Plunge together.

"You know," said Dean, "I hope you end up gettin' somethin' nice around here someday, maybe a house or land or whatever. Me an' Sam could come and visit you."

She laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dean," she said. "Nobody owns the land. We just borrow it for a while. The land don't belong to nobody."

So saying, she opened the door, and they went into the welcoming warmth of the building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evans Plunge is a firm favorite whenever I'm in that area. It's an old indoor mineral hot spring with waterslides and Tarzan rings. It's been a tourist attraction for over a century.


	89. El Dorado - Now

"Hawai'i?" repeated Dean. "As in the Big Island, or the chain?"

"The Big Island."

"Don't we have people out there who can - "

There was a rush of wind.

Sam and Dean were standing in the lobby of a luxurious hotel with Castiel's hands on each of their shoulders.

"Wow, Cas, warn a guy!" groused Dean.

"My apologies," said Castiel, stepping back.

"Well, now that we're here," said Sam, casting a curious look at Cas. "Want to look around?"

"Too rich for my blood," said Dean.

"What are you talking about? We live off stolen credit cards," said Sam. "What's it gonna hurt, Dean?"

Dean gave Sam the hard side-eye.

"Shhh!" he said. "Jeez, Sam, you wanna get us thrown out on our ear or what?"

"Sorry," said Sam in a quieter voice. "I don't think anybody noticed."

"I've booked us two rooms here," Castiel announced.

"Using what? Heaven money?" asked Dean.

Castiel just stared at him.

"I believe you would call it a _perk_ ," said Cas, airquotes and everything.

Dean rubbed his face.

"Man," he said. "Are you telling me that we suffered through roach motels all these years while you coulda just whipped up a freakin' 5-star suite on a dime?"

"Your anonymity is your shield."

"Thought you were my shield," said Dean, with a quick wink and a smile because apparently he couldn't help himself and the flirting came naturally.

"Wow, okay," said Sam. "Well, I'm gonna get some shuteye then. We've got to talk to witnesses in the morning."

"Witnesses to what?" asked Dean. "I didn't end up gettin' the four-one-one, dude."

"The black-eyed kids," said Sam. 

"Holy shit, really?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, but it's kinda late, and it's not like we can just show up there," said Sam. "Cas kinda got us here in a hurry. I don't even have my laptop, let alone badges or suits."

"You'll find them all in your room in the morning," said Castiel, handing Sam a keycard. "Good evening, Sam."

Sam gave him an even more puzzled look and then nodded.

"Night. See you guys in the morning."

Sam walked off, and with a final glance over his shoulder, disappeared around a corner.

Dean turned to Castiel.

"Okay, what the hell was that - "

He stared.

Castiel's eyes were dark, and there was a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

The angel advanced towards him.

Dean's eyes widened, and he swallowed.

***

The room they were in was palatial, but Dean didn't have much time to consider it. 

Stars shone in the night sky outside, and the crash of the waves below acted as soundproofing.

"I want you to do as I say," Castiel told Dean. "Anytime you want to stop, we will stop. Understand?"

Dean nodded.

"I need verbal affirmation, Dean."

"Yeah," said Dean. "Yeah, Cas. Whatever you wanna do, I'm down."

Castiel handed Dean something soft.

He looked down at what was in his hands.

Pink bikini-cut satin panties.

Dean looked back up at Castiel, who was regarding him with a cool stare.

"What," Dean began, but he didn't really have to finish the sentence.

Castiel knew him too well.

"Strip, and put them on," Castiel ordered. "Then kneel for me on the bed."

Dean did as he was told. 

He waited on the bed, head bowed.

He heard Castiel move something close to the bed, and the sound of him undressing. He saw the trenchcoat, suit jacket, white buttondown shirt hit the floor.

"Look at me, beloved," Castiel purred, rough on a growl that went right through Dean and made his toes curl.

He was already hard, his cock tenting the panties obscenely. He was so fucking turned on he felt like every one of his nerve endings were alight.

Cas swiped a finger across his cock, and as Dean looked up, he saw an entirely naked Castiel put his finger in his mouth for a taste with the same slightly-tilted-head expression he used when tasting any kind of food.

Next to the bed was a full-body mirror on a swinging wooden frame of teak with solid feet.

"I want you to worship me," Castiel said. 

Dean blinked at him.

"Come here," said Cas, and Dean moved to the edge of the bed.

"I want you to suck my cock, and watch yourself in the mirror," Castiel said softly, running a hand through Dean's hair. "I want you to see how beautiful you are in worship."

Uncertain, Dean took Castiel's cock in his mouth. The silk hardness of him, the quick kick of his cock in Dean's mouth as he moaned when his cockhead hit the back of Dean's throat.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Castiel reminded him gently. "I want you to watch yourself."

Dean did, after a moment.

He saw himself flushed pink, freckles standing out, eyes bright, bright green.

"You're so beautiful, down on your knees for me," praised Castiel, beginning to move in slow, little thrusts. Dean watched the muscles of his ass move and moaned a little around Cas's cock.

"That's it," Castiel said. "You are so lovely in submission, Dean. Thank you for this gift."

Abruptly, he pulled out of Dean's mouth, leaving Dean panting and staring at his own reflection.

Castiel got onto the bed behind him, and brought out his wings.

He pulled the panties down beneath Dean's ass and began to work him open with his fingers.

" _Ah!_ " Dean shouted, overstimulated, his cock a hard line, the center of the universe Castiel.

"Don't touch," Cas murmured in his ear, as Dean's hand moved to relieve some of the pressure.

With more strength of will than Dean thought he possessed, he slammed his hand down at his side.

"Good boy," whispered Castiel into his ear, then moved into position, and holding Dean so that he was staring at his own reflection, pushed home in one long, smooth thrust.

Dean whined, watching precome leak from his cock and stain the front of the panties, overstimulated and desperate as he watched Castiel fuck into him powerfully from behind, those great black wings stretching up and out behind him, dominant and possessive and perfect.

"Look at yourself," Cas muttered into his ear, as he wrapped a strong arm around Dean's chest and anchored his palm firmly against the old handprint scar, making Dean sob and cry out again, "you're ruining your pretty pink panties."

Dean felt shame and humiliation almost as an electrocution, and his pathetic choked moan afterwards as he watched himself get fucked by this creature beyond his comprehension, a being so powerful he could smite Dean with a thought but had chosen desire and love and possession instead -

Dean was conquered and honored and absolutely smitten, his heart was Castiel's, his body, his soul. 

"Anything you want," he found himself sighing. "God, anything you want."

"I want you to yield to me," Castiel told him. "Worship me. I want to be your world, Dean, the way you are mine. Will you do that for me?"

"Fuck, yes," Dean affirmed. "Cas. Please. Touch me."

But Castiel just kept thrusting into him, holding him still, making him watch.

"I need - "

"I know what you need, Dean," he said. "You look so exquisite, out of your mind with desire for me."

And Castiel reached down and barely touched his cock -

" _Yes, fuck, oh fuck - !_ " Dean shouted, and suddenly Castiel's hand was gone again.

Dean fucking _wept_ , actual tears were coursing down his cheeks now.

" _Please, oh God, please Cas, you can't,_ " Dean whined.

"All in good time, beloved," said Castiel. "For now, I want to enjoy you."

And Dean, helpless, could do nothing but stay in place as he tasted the salt of his own tears and lost himself in his own desire as he watched himself get fucked by his best friend, completely ruining the silky material of the panties stretched to near breaking point beneath his ass.

Then Castiel softly slid his hand around Dean's throat. Dean leaned his head back into Cas's shoulder. Cas just kept the lightest pressure of his hand against Dean's throat, but when he saw himself in the mirror he let out a garbled sound and thrust into him _hard,_ suddenly. 

Cas moved his hand away from Dean's throat and clamped strong arms around him as the wings flared up and out in a staggering and frankly terrifying display of dominance, as Castiel's fingers crackled with grace and his eyes lit like blue fire. 

He held Dean in place, arms wrapped possessively around chest and hips, and moved like lightning on water, pistoning into Dean with his teeth clenched together as if he would catch the storm between them -

and with a roar and whine that sounded much more like his angelic voice than his human one, the lights shattered and the mirror shattered and Dean came so fucking hard he blacked out as he felt Castiel coming deep inside him, his cock pulsing, and blue lighting raced around the room for a split second before everything was plunged into darkness.

***

"So," croaked Dean, like a man who had been in the desert without water for days, "good, then?"

Castiel had just finished repairing the mirror. He gave Dean a guilty look.

"I may have," he began, "underestimated my reaction to - to - "

"Being worshipped?" Dean said like satin and silk, prowling across the bed toward Cas like a cat. Two could play at this game. "Told that you can do anything to me, with me, that everything I am is yours?"

Castiel's full-body shiver did not go unnoticed. He closed his eyes, ostensibly to get control of himself, as Dean draped himself over Castiel.

"That was so fuckin' hot," said Dean, kissing the juncture between his neck and jaw. "But Cas. You know we can't just go off whenever we want to. New relationships all have the honeymoon period, and I ain't complainin' about the room, but still."

"Sam said we had to go to Hawai'i," Castiel said defensively.

"Yeah, buddy, but you didn't let him get another word out before we were here," chuckled Dean into the skin of Cas's neck. 

"I may have been a little impatient," Castiel allowed.

"Dude. We'd _just_ left the Bahamas. You're gonna freak Sam out. And you're gonna tire _me_ out."

"Apologies."

"Hey man, I'm glad that you think I'm such hot shit," said Dean. "But we got a job to do, and I also gotta be able to walk -"

"Trust me, Dean, you already have bowlegs. Nobody's going to know."

Dean gaped at him.

Castiel grinned.

"You little shit," said Dean, laughing.

They fell asleep there, together beneath the stars, beside the sea.


	90. Unforgiven - Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: extreme internalized homophobia/biphobia

Early the next morning, they said their goodbyes to Tracy and got back on the road again.

"We're heading back to Minnesota?" asked Sam. "Why?"

"Dunno," said Dean. "Solomon gave her an address and said I should go there. No other info."

"It's not a hunt, is it?" asked Sam.

"Don't think so," Dean replied. "You wanna stop for snacks or what?"

Sam slouched in the front seat.

"They never have any fruit or vegetables," he crabbed.

"Well, yeah, Sam, they're roadside convenience stores," said Dean. "But I'll make sure I get you a banana next time I see one."

"We could go into town," said Sam, half-hopeful.

"We can get real food when we get there," said Dean. "For now? I'll buy you a packet of Twizzlers."

"Twizzlers aren't fruit."

"Sure they are," said Dean. "There's a picture of a strawberry right there on the bag."

Sam made a noncommital noise and although Dean couldn't see him because he was watching the road, he was sure Sam rolled his eyes.

***

They made pretty good time to Duluth and got into the downtown area just as night was falling.

"All right," said Dean. "Okay. You just hang back here in the car, got it?"

"Dean - "

"I don't know what I'm headin' into, Sam," said Dean. "Gonna need you to act as backup. Okay?"

Sam crossed his arms and sat back against the bench seat.

"Fine."

"What crawled up your ass and died, jeez," said Dean, but stood up and closed the door of the Impala.

He walked up the steep street and found the address. It was an old Masonic temple with a coffeehouse inside. The door was up the side street, an unassuming entryway.

Dean knocked. The lock clicked open as he got buzzed in.

He went inside and found himself standing at the foot of the stairs.

In the dim light, he saw that there were brass nameplates hanging on the wall by the staircase.

_JM Smith, Attorney at Law_

_Gull Wing Press_

_Duluth Gay Men's Association_

_Orchid Day Spa_

Dean's eyes crawled back up to the previous nameplate.

He could feel the blood drain from his face.

Suddenly, he heard a door open and talking, laughter -

people were coming down the stairs.

Dean made a split-second decision, and ran.

***

"Whoa, whoa - hey! what is it?" Sam said, on seeing Dean return to the Impala like something was chasing him. "What do we do? Can I help? Do we need weapons?"

"No," said Dean. "Stay the fuck in the car, okay? We never speak of this again."

"What - "

" _Please._ Sam," said Dean, a high note in his voice.

They were back on the road and out of town faster than Dean had done anything in his life.

_Could he see it on me?_

_Can_ _everybody_ _see it on me?_

_Can **Sam**?_

After Angel, after Achille, after the other guys, and Poughkeepsie -

he should've been able to learn not to -

he should've been different, by now.

Besides, how real could it be? He still liked women. It was a sickness his father wanted ironed out of him permanently.

Just another way that Dean had failed him.

Dean kept his mouth shut, jaw tight, and drove into the night as Sam's questions eventually subsided.

He didn't even stop for a motel until after midnight, as if somehow putting miles between himself and that place would make a difference to something that existed within him all along.


	91. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre - Now

The sun rose over the island, brilliant and beautiful.

Dean found himself ensconced in a fluffy tent of black feathers. He tried to move.

Cas shuffled his wings and drew him tighter, making little cooing sounds in his sleep like a pigeon.

Dean tried to slide out from under the wings but Castiel's arms drew him tight. The wings did the little shuffle again and Cas made a pleased little sound into Dean's back.

"Cas," Dean whispered. "Cas. C'mon."

Cas muttered something in Enochian and the wings pulled Dean flush with Cas's body. Cas ground up against his ass possessively and sighed.

Dean was stuck.

"Cas, you gotta -"

Suddenly, the cool morning air hit Dean's skin as Cas was on top of him in a fluid motion, wings snapping out, blinking down at him with those blue eyes clear as the sea behind him, beyond the balcony.

Cas stared down at him, ground against him once as if he were making a point.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, I'm yours," said Dean. "But now that I got two tons of angel on my bladder we've got a kinda touch-n-go situation here, Cas."

Cas's eyes were sleepy again, and filled with a sappy longing. He smiled, softly, and then rolled off of Dean.

"I'll be right back, promise," said Dean, and went to the bathroom.

When he returned, he stood leaning against the doorjamb fondly, watching the angel sleep, his huge black wings as ruffled as his hair. He was out like a light. 

_Maybe last night really took it outta him,_ Dean thought fondly.

Then he wondered if this was why Cas watched him sleep all the time.

Scratching the back of his head and yawning, Dean went to the coffee maker.

"Classy place," he said to himself, as he waited to pour himself and Cas a mug.

While he stood there waiting, he took in the view outside.

In the clear morning, the green island was a world of mist rising from the ocean, fringed with palms.

The loveliness of the place melted Dean's heart. It made tears come to his eyes. He'd seen the Bahamas, yes, but this was something completely new to him, both ancient and wild.

Dean had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

_Well,_ he thought, his heart aching in the best way as he turned back toward the bed and Castiel with the mugs of coffee in his hands.

_Damn. I'm so glad I got over myself._

_Well, mostly._

_Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to have **this.**_

Dean slid into the bed. Cas's nose moved a little, like he was sniffing out a new scent.

"Cas, wake up," he said. "Coffee. C'mon, sweetheart."

Cas finally opened his eyes. Dean smiled at him, and was rewarded with another rare smile.

The angel sat up and took the proffered mug of coffee, drinking it with all evidence of enjoyment.

"They say some of the best coffee in the world comes from around here," said Dean, taking a sip himself. "Damn! They ain't lyin'."

They sat there quietly for a while, drinking coffee together in that early morning light that softened the world and made everything look like a Renaissance painting. The rumpled sheets and blankets, the pile of pillows, even the wall behind.

_Complete with an angel,_ Dean thought with a smile as he sipped his coffee.

Dean found himself staring at Cas's wings again.

"I thought angel wings would be white," he said. 

"They are," said Castiel. "Mine were as well."

Dean frowned.

"Then how'd they turn black?" he asked.

"Saving you from Hell," Cas said. "Are there any doughnuts?"

Dean gaped at him in shock.

"God, Cas, I'm so sorry," he said.

"It's all right, Dean," Castiel said. "I like them this way. It is a reminder of a heroic deed. The most important of my long life. I wear them proudly now."

"Well, they are pretty badass," said Dean. "Feathers seem to have grown back, too. I'm sorry about what happened, I can be so fuckin' stupid sometimes."

"You weren't to know," said Cas, placidly sipping his coffee. "And they restore themselves fairly quickly, if the mate reaffirms their love."

"Huh," said Dean. "Mate."

"It's the closest human-equivalent word I have," said Cas. "There is a much deeper meaning, but it's untranslateable. Roughly, it means _my forever_."

Dean stared down into his mug.

"And, uh, what would happen," he asked, "if I hadn't? Re- reaffirmed my - love?"

Castiel gave Dean a look that lanced through him.

"It depends on the angel," he said. "Some recover, eventually. Some disappear forever, preferring a life of solitude. And some -"

Castiel blinked, as his voice trembled minutely, and said:

"Some lose all their feathers, wither and die."

"Shit," said Dean. "So don't fuck this up, huh."

"Please don't think there's any pressure on you," said Castiel. "It's only outright rejection that causes these extremes. As long as you don't withdraw your friendship, it will not happen."

The gravity of the situation was becoming more and more clear to Dean. This was _serious -_ for real, serious - and while _he_ might be able to walk away unscathed, Castiel could not. 

"You're puttin' a lotta faith in me, here."

"When have I not?"

The reality of this situation hit Dean square between the eyes.

The pitfalls of dating outside of his own species.

"You know what, Cas?" Dean said. "This should scare the shit outta me. But for some reason - it doesn't. I'm tired of dancing around shit, of the lies, of everything. I'm gonna be so good for you, man. I swear."

"Dean," said Castiel. "You've always been good for me."

They sat in companionable silence as the waves washed the shore and Dean marveled internally at how scared he wasn't.

***

They caught up with Sam at the breakfast bar where he was downing a lifetime's quantity of orange juice.

"The food here is _incredible,_ " Sam enthused. "All the fruit and vegetables are so fresh! And I went for a run this morning, really refreshing. The island is great."

"Yeah it is," Dean agreed, somehow without ribbing Sam about a. running or b. vegetables, making him immediately suspicious.

"You're in a good mood," Sam accused.

"What can I say?" Dean asked, watching as Castiel went to sleepily study the food on offer. "When you meet the right person - "

Suddenly, latent hunter's instincts started kicking in.

"Hey, why are _you_ in such a good mood this morning?" asked Dean, narrowing his eyes. "You were pretty okay with Cas winging us to the islands all of a sudden."

Sam looked shifty.

And caught.

"I, uh, just really like the weather, is all," he said, looking up at the ceiling to avoid having to look his brother in the eye.

"Bull," said Dean. "I know you. _Crisp fall weather, Dean, it's the best._ Now you're into shake-n-bake tropical -"

Dean suddenly pointed at him.

" _Holy shit you have a girlfriend,_ " he said. "Is she here?!"

"What's going on?" grumbled Castiel from behind Dean.

"Cas, Sam's got a girlfriend and he won't tell us," said Dean. 

He looked at the angel's plate.

"You only got dry toast?" he asked.

"And Coke."

"You wanna add four fried chickens to that, Belushi?" asked Dean fondly.

Castiel tilted his head.

"Okay, no, wait a second, not gettin' sidetracked," said Dean, turning back to his brother. "Who is it? Do I know her?"

"Well, yeah," said Sam. "Friends first, and then more. It happened kinda like you and Cas - "

"Sam!" scolded Castiel. "I thought you were a gentleman!"

Dean made a sound of protest. Sam looked at both of them and then gave up.

"It's Rowena, okay?" he said. 

"Dean, they have doughnuts," said Castiel urgently, as if life and death hung in the balance.


	92. The Searchers - Then

The Impala broke down, somewhere at the Iowa state line where Dean had decided they were going to hole up in a motel.

"Can't you fix it?" asked Sam in a slightly whiny way. Dean gave him an irritable look, but he couldn't really blame the kid, they should've overnighted in Duluth but he was too busy running from things.

"Not this time," said Dean, _hating_ that he couldn't. 

_Your dad probably could,_ said a voice in his head that sounded a lot like his dad's.

Sam snuffled, and then coughed.

"Sam, you don't have to _cry_ because of -" Dean turned and saw that he wasn't crying, but his eyes were red.

"Not crying," Sam said. "Just - don't feel good."

_Shit._

Sam was getting sick.

The car was broken down.

Dean had just about enough money for a couple of nights at this motel and then maybe some food.

"Okay, you go to bed," said Dean. "I'll see what I can do here."

"Okay," said Sam, and he disappeared into the motel room.

Dean stared down at the engine and angrily blinked back his tears.

He'd figure something out.

***

A couple of days passed, and Sam's cough was deep and horrible now.

Dean was no closer to fixing the Impala.

He knew that he'd need to admit defeat and take it in to get fixed.

_You're fucking worthless. Useless. You know that?_

Dean tried talking back, but it was hard to do when it was himself he was talking back to.

_I'm not worthless! I can fix most stuff but I don't have a way to fix this!_

He went back inside to find Sam on the phone.

"It's Tracy," he said, and then fell into a coughing fit.

"Tracy?!" Dean repeated. "Sam, you don't run up a fuckin' long distance bill like - "

He put the receiver to his ear.

"Don't bitch him out, Dean," Tracy said. "This is on my dime."

"Yours?" asked Dean. "How'd you even know where we were?"

"Sam called collect and talked fast, okay? Give him a break. He sounds like shit."

"Sure, fine," he said, cranky.

"Don't talk to me like that," said Tracy. "I know you wanna disappear off the face of the earth, sad white man, but _somebody_ didn't tell me that they'd thrown their cellphone into a chunk of kudzu down in Mississippi."

Dean glared at Sam.

"Okay, so what's up?"

"Sam says you broke down and he's obviously sick."

"I can handle it, Trace."

"Bullshit. You're gonna go to Western Union in the morning and pick up the five hundred bucks I am wiring to you."

"Five hundred bucks?!" Dean yelped. "You don't have that kind of money!"

"Neither do you," she said. "And from what Sam tells me, your only recourse ain't a legal one. So take the damned gift."

Dean scrubbed his face with his hand.

"And take your brother to the doctor, for fuck's sake."

Dean sighed.

"Okay," he said. "Fine."

"Ain't had a lotta friends, have ya, Winchester?" she asked. "You wanna tell me why you ain't in Duluth? I coulda sent you to some friends I got up there."

"I just..." Dean didn't really have much to say about it.

"You terrified of lawyers or somethin'?" she asked. "Jeez, Dean, how _illegal_ have your illegal activities been, exactly?"

"L - lawyer?" he stammered.

"Yeah, Dad wanted you to talk to this guy he knows up there, Smith?" she said. "He's a little weird, kinda thinks he's livin' in a film noir, hat n' everything, but he - wait. That's not what you were runnin' from, I take it?"

Dean closed his eyes. Sam coughed like he was hacking up a lung in the background.

"We can talk about it later," he said, gently. "Thanks for the money, Trace. I'll pay you back when I can."

"Don't break your back worryin' over it," she said. "But get back up there and see the guy, he'll help you out. All right?"

"Yeah, okay," said Dean. 

"You have a good night, sad white man," said Tracy. "And you buy another cell phone so I can actually get in touch, okay?"

"Okay."

Dean hung up the phone.

He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from Sam, and buried his face in his hands.

After a while, he stood up, and took a walk to the gas station, where he picked up some 7-UP and cough medicine for Sam with the last money they had.

He went back, put his hand on Sam's forehead and put a glass of water and another of 7-UP next to his brother, fed him cough syrup, and did all the things he'd done for Sam since he was a child.

"You let that sit before you drink it," Dean instructed Sam with regards to the pop. 

Sam just nodded, and returned to fitful sleep.

Dean went to sleep himself then with a knot in his chest. He'd spent the last of their money.

But Tracy had said she'd come through for them and -

well.

It was something like his first test of faith.

***

Tracy, true to her word, had wired them money - six hundred dollars, more than she'd said.

Dean took the Impala to the garage and Sam to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with walking pneumonia and pleurisy. They injected him full of morphine and amoxicillin before letting him go with a prescription and instructions to rest.

"It's a good thing you brought him in," the doctor told Dean. "People die of this all the time."

And with that startling revelation, Dean wished, as he often had, for a more reliable way to get healthcare than understanding the basics of field medicine.

The Impala needed a water pump, which wasn't an expensive fix but definitely not something Dean could've done on his own due to its placement. 

But he swore to himself that he was going to learn everything about the Impala, inside and out, so that he'd be able to rebuild her from scratch if necessary.

If anything, these experiences had been a lesson for Dean.

On the way back to the motel, Dean saw a bumper sticker on a car that read:

_America's Healthcare Plan - Don't Get Sick!_

He laughed without humor, and when he handed the pills to Sam, told him that once he got better, they were headed back up to Duluth.

Sam gave him a weird look, but he was still too sick to ask any questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the great laments of any drifter, hobo, itinerant worker, etc. is the lack of a single healthcare system across the States. We are all well-versed in field medicine, of course - I once had a friend who cut themselves on broken glass in a dumpster and stitched themselves back together using fishing line. Knowledge of first aid is invaluable on the road, because there are very long stretches of nothing much all over the USA. State to state the situation changes and too many people have grown up thinking that it's somehow a tough-guy thing to avoid going to the doctor.
> 
> But there are things that field medicine can't fix - like Sam's illness, matching Dean's inability to fix the Impala in this chapter. Some things are just out of our hands. Most of us are in favor of single-payer universal healthcare in the States for this reason. The system as it stands has never worked and is currently being shown to not really be up to the task of something like a global pandemic.


	93. True Grit - Now

"Rowena?" repeated Dean. "Ro _weeena_?"

"Dean," Cas cautioned at his elbow.

"Yeah," said Sam defiantly. "You got a problem with that?"

"Do I have a - yeah, Sam, I do!" said Dean. "She's _a witch_ , Sam!"

"So what?" Sam retorted, crossing his arms. "So am I."

Dean's brain screeched to a halt.

"You," said Dean. "You?"

"Me," Sam affirmed.

And with that bombshell dropped, he turned around and said:

"We better get going, we don't want to be late."

"You - a _man-witch_?" Dean said, lost, as he trailed his little brother outside to the rental car.

***

"I can't believe you rented an Impala," said Dean sniffily. "This ain't even an Impala, Sam."

The sleek white _modernity_ of the thing just offended the hell out of him.

"Sure it is," said Sam. "Says so right there."

"Uh-huh," said Dean. "So you wanna tell me - ?"

"Nope," said Sam. "We're working a job today. You can yell at me later."

"Okay, fine," said Dean, giving up for the moment. "Where are we going?"

"We're meeting a woman up in Volcano."

Dean didn't have anything to say to that, so he sat back and watched the scenery go by. 

The place looked like it was mostly jungle up here, the forest thick and running alongside the highway, almost impenetrable.

Then they hit a part of the highway where the forest just got...weirder.

Strange trees bent at odd angles rose up out of the mist. The ground was red.

"What's - that was a fast change," said Dean.

"Hawaii has many microclimates," Cas informed him from the backseat. "They change rapidly, particularly with altitude."

"Huh," said Dean, privately in awe of the view outside his window.

They found themselves in a small village where a woman greeted them outside her house. She was very tall and very fat with a bright white smile. She wore a dark red hulumu'u that hugged her curves.

When they got out of the car, Dean was surprised to find that the ground was covered with mist and the air had a chill to it.

"Hi, Sam," she said warmly. "Thank you for coming all this way."

"It's no problem, really," said Sam. "We get an opportunity to explore the island. And we've been looking for a break in this case for a while. Thanks for calling us in."

"Howzit? I'm Ke'ala," she said, shaking their hands. 

"Dean," said Dean, "and that's Castiel."

Ke'ala beamed at him.

"Welcome to my home, angel," she said to Castiel. 

Dean shot a look at Sam.

"Did you - "

"Oh, no," said Ke'ala with a grin. "I can just see him. That's the reason I called you in. I've had second sight for my entire life, and I can see the black-eyed children. Now. Won't you come in?"

Dean, dumbfounded, could do nothing but follow.

***

"Drop da slippah!" Ke'ala called to a dog that had snatched up a flip-flop from outside the house and run off with it. She shook her head. "Damn poi dogs."

She led them into a beautiful kitchen with high wooden ceilings, where they took seats around a dark wooden table.

"Now," she said, pouring pog into their glasses, "Let's talk story. Sam had been asking around for any information about these kids, and I'd been wondering what was going on for a while. I started seeing them sometime around the beginning of this year, maybe earlier?"

"And you can see them because you have second sight?" asked Dean.

Ke'ala shrugged.

"I guess?" she said. "For whatever reason, I started seeing these kids tagging around after people. At first I thought they were _their_ kids, but you know, then I saw their eyes."

Dean took a drink. His eyes widened.

"Holy shit, what _is_ this stuff?" he asked. "It's awesome."

"It's pog," she told him. "Passion-orange-guava juice, it's really popular here."

"Do you have any idea what these children might be?" asked Castiel, as Dean downed his pog.

"Well, I don't know if you know this, but the _menehune -_ a kind of mischievous elf - can only be seen by children, or certain people," she said. "Most of the time, unless it is a time of grave danger, these children can only be seen by the person they're attached to."

"Why's that?" asked Sam.

"Because they are the physical manifestation of childhood memories," said Ke'ala.

Dean froze.

_Oh._

"So that's what the thing with the roaches was about," he muttered.

Sam gave him a curious look, but Dean didn't elaborate.

"How do you know that?" he asked.

"Because I can see mine," she told Sam. "And I asked her."

***

Later, they drove back to the hotel.

"Doesn't really explain why the drifters were seeing them just before death," said Dean. "Or why other people could suddenly see them too."

"Manifestations of the psyche have been reported in cultures all around the world," said Sam. "I guess it's up to us."

"How?" asked Dean. "Get into a life-or-death situation and ask _hey kid do you know why drifters are seeing you just before they bite it_?"

"I don't know, maybe?" asked Sam.

"And you and me are gonna have a talk," said Dean.

"I thought you were allergic to those," said Sam.

"Haha, very funny," Dean said.

"Tomorrow morning?" Sam offered.

"What's wrong with right now?"

"I have plans," said Sam, and refused to elaborate.

"That's all right, Sam," said Cas from the backseat. "We have plans, too."

"We do?" asked Dean.

"We do," Castiel replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawai'i is a fascinating place. My apologies for using an apostrophe instead of the 'okina as shorthand for these chapters.
> 
> Hawai'i has a long history and an incredibly rich culture. Unfortunately much of life there is fraught with tensions between various groups of people and it is not quite the paradise its PR makes it seem, but all of that is a very long story and not one I will get into here. Hawai'i has mythology, folklore, history, culture, singular cuisine, and landscapes worth seeing. Ke'ala in this chapter is partially speaking in Hawaiian pidgin, which has its own unique lexicon and history.
> 
> The guys are staying in Hilo, the "rainiest city in America" - and probably also the greenest, with some of the most unbelievable foliage you'll see anywhere in the States.
> 
> Pog is awesome and worth the trip on its own. It's also where the game 'pogs' originated from, because the little discs in the plastic caps of pog bottles had pictures on them. 
> 
> Dean's way of saying "Rowena" is from the final episode of _Black Books_ because that's all I ever hear when someone says Rowena.


	94. Tombstone - Then

Within a week, Sam got better, and they were finally back on the road.

"We gotta figure out some way to get healthcare, next time," said Dean.

"Maybe we could fake health insurance like Dad does with credit cards?" Sam hazarded.

"That'll work for the ER and that's it," said Dean. "And that's a big _maybe._ "

"It's something," said Sam, and Dean had to agree.

***

They pulled into a bakery on the highway to Duluth and Dean got a bear claw.

"Do they have any salad?" asked Sam.

"What is it with you?" asked Dean. "Salad. Seriously?"

"Well, I get carsick," said Sam. "All that greasy crap makes me feel like I'm gonna puke. Besides, I _just_ got over pneumonia."

"Since when do you get carsick?"

"Since forever, Dean, you never let me drive!"

"Okay, okay, keep your pants on, I'll go see if they have salad."

"Thank you."

Dean handed Sam a bruised banana, put the bear claw between his own teeth, and put the car into gear.

***

Dean found himself standing outside the same door in Duluth he had run from before.

"Sam," he said. "Will you go and wait for me in the bar down there?"

"Dean -"

"Just. Please. Sam."

Sam voiced a long-suffering sigh.

"Fine."

He loped off down the street, and Dean turned to the door again.

Someone buzzed him in.

This time, he marched resolutely up the stairs and knocked on the door of _JA Smith, Attorney at Law._

The door swung open, and there stood a Native American man with long hair in a braid dressed exactly like he'd stepped out of an old detective movie.

"Wow," said Dean.

"Dean Winchester, I presume?" he asked.

"JA Smith?" asked Dean.

He smiled, and put a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it up as he went back to his desk and motioned Dean to sit.

"It's actually Jayfeather," he said. "You can call me Jay."

"Are you related to Tracy or something?"

"No, she's Sioux, I'm Ojibwe, Anishinaabe," he said, puzzled. "What can I do for you?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," said Dean apologetically. "Tracy sent me here to see you. I figured you knew why."

Jay leaned back in his chair. He motioned to the cigarettes.

"Go ahead and take one," he said.

Dean relaxed, took one out of the pack and lit up.

"Been a while?" Jay asked.

"Yeah, I try not to smoke around my little brother," said Dean. "Problem is, we're kinda joined at the hip."

"Oh, I see," said Jay. "I think I may know why Solomon and Tracy sent you to me."

"Why's that?"

"Do you have any problems with your home life?"

Dean laughed.

Jay raised an eyebrow and tapped his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk.

"Why would you laugh at that question?"

"It's complicated," said Dean, ashing his own cigarette. 

"Why's that?"

"Look, dude, I'm glad that Solomon and Tracy have our backs, okay?" said Dean. "But I'm an adult now, it's too late for me, and pretty much too late for my little brother."

"Dean, you don't need to be a minor for me to help you," said Jay. "Adults can be in vulnerable, abusive situations too."

 _Vulnerable,_ the word repeated in Dean's head. _That means you're weak._

"Yeah, thanks but no thanks," said Dean roughly. "We're good."

Jay regarded him from across the desk, over his hand holding the cigarette as he leaned his elbow on the wood.

Then he gave a resigned sigh, blowing the smoke out into the room.

He leaned over and handed Dean a business card.

"This is my card," he said. "I expect you'll be staying in the area?"

"Maybe," Dean allowed. "Couple weeks at most."

 _If that,_ Dean thought.

"Think about it," he said. "And call me, or stop by, whenever you like. I'll be in court some days but you have an open invitation."

"Thanks," Dean muttered, tucking the card into his pocket and standing up, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray. 

He turned around and walked out of the office without looking behind him.

***

Dean found Sam sitting with a bunch of guys, all of whom were apparently drinking pink Cosmos.

Including Sam.

"What the hell is that?" Dean demanded, pointing at it.

"Ooh, who's that?" asked one of the guys, leaning back. "Cute."

"That's my brother, Dean," said Sam. 

"What's with the girl drink?" Dean demanded.

"We get it, you're straight," said another of the guys, taking a sip.

"No way, darling, she's a closet case if I ever saw one," said one of them, who was dressed as a woman.

"Sam," said Dean evenly. "Will you c'mere?"

Sam made a disgusted noise and stood up, walking over to his brother, who addressed him in a low whisper.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"Having a drink, Dean! Jeez."

"May I remind you that you are not of age?"

"That's _not_ what this is about and you know it!"

"Oh?" asked Dean. "Then what _is_ it about?"

Sam folded his arms.

"You know," he said.

"Oh, I know, do I?" asked Dean.

"Yeah. You're a fucking homophobe just like Dad. And you know what? Fuck you both. These guys are nice and I want to hang out with them, Dean! They're from the Gay Men's Association across the street and they bought me a drink."

"You know why they bought you a drink, don't you?" asked Dean desperately, wondering how on earth he'd gone from _hide everything from Sam because he won't think you're a tough guy anymore if he knows you like guys_ to _Dean's a raging homophobe just like Dad!_ and all the borderline abusive behavior that seemed to have inspired in their father.

"Dean," said Sam, a hard line to his voice, "just because that's how _you_ treat women doesn't mean that everyone's that big of an asshole."

Sam turned to go back to the table and Dean caught his elbow.

"Let me go," Sam said under his breath. "What are you gonna do, call the cops? They'll take me away from you and put me in foster care, Dean. They'll fucking arrest you for all the shit you've done, you think you got away from any of that just because your rap sheet's closed after the age of eighteen? I figure you got somebody looking for you in at least half the continental US, if not more. So fucking _let. me. go._ "

He yanked his arm away from Dean with an angry, foxlike glare over his shoulder.

It was the first time Dean could remember feeling afraid of his brother.

 _You may have to kill him someday, Dean,_ his father's cold voice insisted in his mind.

Dean shook his head as he watched Sam take a seat with his newfound friends, while he stood fuming in the corner until he realized that was only making it worse.

So, against his better judgment, he went and sat down with the group like a stormcloud.

All he could hear was Sam saying _let.me.go_ over and over, on repeat, in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ojibwe/Chippewa are a subset of Anishinaabe people from this region. They are the originators of the dreamcatcher, which is unique to their culture, and has unfortunately become a widespread example of cultural misappropriation.


	95. The Quick and the Dead - Now

Castiel's plan was apparently to take Dean to the beach.

At night.

Although this was like no beach Dean had ever seen, or even dreamed of.

A pool of water, beside the crashing ocean, silver in the moonlight, fringed with palms.

The moon made the world so bright it was like daytime but silver-white.

"Cas. What is this place?"

"Ahalanui," Castiel said, wading into the water. "Dean. Come."

Dean approached the water slowly, and dipped his foot into it.

"It's warm!" he said, surprised.

"It's a volcanic hot spring," Castiel explained.

Dean watched him walk into the water, as he brought out his black wings and lifted them over his head. Strong muscles in his back moved as he walked forward, and then stood in the center of the pool with that beautiful silver light picking out the oilslick shine of his feathers and making him glow.

"You're perfect," Dean blurted out, having forgotten to move because he'd been too busy watching Cas.

Cas looked over at him and held out a hand.

Dean sank into the warmth of the water as he approached the angel, and finally took Castiel's hand. 

The waves of the Pacific crashed into the pool, cooling it off. The water was so clear that the black, smooth stones beneath their feet were visible, and little silver fish flashed around them.

Dean looked into Cas's eyes to see the universe.

"I brought you here," murmured Cas against Dean's lips, "because I have something to show you."

When he looked at Dean again, there was utter terror in his eyes.

"Cas?" Dean asked, alarmed. "Cas, what is it?"

"I just," Cas said. "I want you to know."

Dean watched Cas walk away from him, anxiety scrambling up inside his chest, wanting to call out _no,_ or _stop,_ but he had no idea what Cas was planning.

He watched as Castiel lowered his head.

The wings arched up, and out -

and up, and up, and out and out and out -

Dean shouted, and backed up against the wall of the pool, gripping the lava rocks there in abject fear.

Unfolding and unfolding, out and away from Cas, was -

Dean couldn't really understand what he was looking at, exactly, because his mind found the words slippery and unwieldy, as if words were never meant to describe what he was seeing -

something old, ancient, eldritch, a deep terror running beneath the earth, strung between the stars like a spider's web, in the blood and the bones of humanity, in the millenia of soil beneath his feet, the ultimate destructive and creative power of the volcano he was currently riding, the width and the breadth of the sky -

rings on rings on rings on rings, all golden and bright and round, turning, turning, turning as they went, each one encircled with thousands of eyes as it stayed still suspended in the air above the pool, huge and eternal and pinning him to the wall with a deep-seated, ancient fear that had run in his own human blood for countless generations, a fear and awe and unknown horror that had caused centuries of humanity to lower their eyes to the earth -

and wings, stretched wide across the heavens, six pairs of them stacked upon each other and somehow raising the creature aloft -

and in the quiet of the paper-rattle of the palms, and the crash of the sea, Dean was dimly aware that he was making some kind of deeply primal sound that just went on and on through his teeth, from deep in his chest, of fear and respect and wonder and awe of this thing that he did not need to be told was terrifying and holy.

 _DEAN,_ it said, somehow without a mouth, and the sweet metallic slight clang of the rings as they moved against each other was somehow interpreted by Dean as a soft, fond smile.

Dean stared up at this inexplicable thing in the sky, big as a mountain and terrible as the nightmares of the first humans to walk the earth, and found that he couldn't even blink, or stop that horrified sound coming from his chest, or move at all.

It was overwhelming, beyond anything, beyond human ken.

It hurt. It felt wonderful. It hurt again.

But somewhere, in all of that, Dean realized that his eyes hadn't burned out and in fact he was at least capable of beholding it.

Then, the rings seemed to fold in upon themselves, and fold in again, like some kind of neverending origami, and in what felt like hours but must have been only a few minutes later, it was gone.

Castiel stood there in the moonlight, wings spread wide, smiling awkwardly at Dean like someone who was very worried that their crush wasn't going to like what they saw.

Dean could not stop making that weird noise. He felt his teeth clenched so tight he thought he was going to break his jaw. He forced himself to blink, which was painful because his eyes were dry on the surface.

"Dean?" asked Castiel, moving quickly, splashing through the water to get to him. "Dean, are you all right?"

Cas placed his hand on Dean's chest and warmth lit through him as a blue glow suffused his body.

Dean unclenched his jaw and finally stopped making that noise.

He panted, a hand on Castiel's wrist.

"I'm sorry," Cas apologized. "Perhaps it wasn't the right time - perhaps I - that was foolish, I didn't know if - I just thought -"

"Cas," Dean finally coughed. "Stop."

Cas shut his mouth and looked at Dean, his face drawn with worry.

"That was you?" he asked. His vocal cords didn't seem to be working quite right.

Cas nodded, clearly ready to run or hide or at least turn away from Dean in embarrassment.

Dean let out a long breath.

He slowly looked up at Castiel.

"You're perfect," he said.

Castiel slumped with relief, and kissed him beneath the swaying palms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part in honor of Hot Ponds (Ahalanui), a beautiful place that followed Queen's Bath and Champagne Ponds in being taken by the lava flow.


	96. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid - Then

Dean sat down with caution. The guys observed him coolly.

"This is Miss Jackson," said Sam. The man dressed as a woman leaned forward and shook Dean's hand.

" _Enchante,_ I'm sure," he said. "I'm a drag queen, sweetheart. I can see the question in your eyes."

Dean just nodded, a little confused.

"And I'm Fred," said one of the other men, who was Black with striking green eyes and freckles. "This is my partner."

The other guy had long black hair and was muscular, looking like the cover of a romance novel. 

"His name's MacLeod, can you believe it?" Fred laughed.

"What, like Duncan?" asked Dean, shaking his hand.

"Ashley, if you can believe it," said the man, with a quick smile of bright white teeth that made Dean's heart skip a beat.

Ashley sat back and kept staring at Dean.

"You look awfully familiar," he said. "Have we met?"

"Not that I know of," said Dean.

"Ashley was just talking to me about living on the road," said Sam.

"Oh, are you a drifter too?" asked Dean.

"God, no. I'm a truck driver."

Every alarm bell in Dean's head was flashing red lights and buzzing with ABORT - ABORT - ABORT - 

but he forced himself to smile and nod.

_Huh. A hot guy, who's_ _**into guys** , openly, who's **your type**. _

_Wonder where he recognizes you from?_

_Some truck stop bathroom in the lower 48, somewhere._

_Hell. You must've gotten off hard after this one._

"You all right?" Fred was asking.

"He's fine," said Miss Jackson. "Doesn't know what to do with all this fabulousness. Honey, dial down the testosterone."

"Oh, the _manliness_ brigade," said Fred, taking a sip of his drink. "Y'know what the manliest thing of all is? Fucking guys. Now _that's_ manly."

They all laughed and Dean could feel himself _blushing,_ damn it, the heat of his face and the tips of his ears that always gave him away.

"He sure is pretty, though," commented Ashley, still staring at Dean with that faint _I know I know you from somewhere_ look. "Lips like sin."

"Hey, hey, I thought I was your favorite," said Fred with a grin. 

"Don't worry, you still are," said Ashley, but he wouldn't stop _looking_ at Dean like he was an actor in a movie he was trying to place, and knew he'd remember, it was just on the tip of his tongue.

"Sam, we gotta check into a motel," said Dean. "We can come back tomorrow if you want."

"We're staying?" asked Sam, surprised.

"Yeah," said Dean, feeling the hard edge of Jay's business card in his pocket. "We're staying."

***

After making their excuses and leaving the bar, Sam walked beside Dean as they returned to the Impala. The chill night air here at the end of winter made them both shiver and look forward to getting back into the warmth of the car.

"Look," Sam finally said. "I'm sorry if I came on a little strong back there. I guess I'm just feeling really - "

"What?" asked Dean. "Held back? 'Cause I mean, Sam, don't let me stop you."

"Not that," said Sam. "Not exactly. I just - I want my own life, Dean. I want to make my own choices. I want us to stop living out of each other's pockets, and Dad's. Okay?"

All Dean heard was _I want to leave you._

"Sure," he said gruffly, covering his emotion. "Okay."

"Dean, really," said Sam, stopping on the sidewalk. "I gotta know you're okay with this."

"You want to know if I'm _okay_ with this?" asked Dean. "You're tellin' me that you wanna leave. You wanna go live some other life, far away from us - from _me._ So forgive me if I don't wanna join you in whistlin' Dixie, okay?"

Sam shook his head with a long-suffering sigh.

"I get it," he said. "You wanted us to stay together forever, but that's just unrealistic, Dean! You want to talk about whistling Dixie, how about that?"

"We're _family_ , Sam," said Dean. "That means we stay together."

"That's what it means for _you_ ," said Sam. "And look, Dean, it's not going to mean I care about you any less, okay? I just think most families have more independence from each other than we do, and I want that! This year has been the best of my life."

"So stay," said Dean, terrified at the lump rising in his throat.

Sam gave him a sad look.

"No," he said quietly. "It's been great. But it's not the life _I_ want, okay? How would you like it if I forced _you_ to go to college and get married and have kids?"

Dean thought about it.

"Guess you have a point there," he said grudgingly.

"I'm sorry, Dean," said Sam. "But this year's been great because _we're not hunting._ Living a different life, one that _we_ chose. And I kind of hoped that you'd start seeing things my way - there's a world out there where you can love your family without being codependent and without needing to live on the road killing monsters. There are other options."

"I know," said Dean tightly. "But the thing is."

He took a breath and looked up at Sam.

"This is what I want," he said.

Sam nodded.

"And it isn't what _I_ want," he said. "Do you get it now?"

Dean did, although he didn't want to admit it.

Didn't want to think of endings, or of change.

Didn't want to think his brother was abandoning him, because he wasn't, not really.

But even though Dean knew it logically, he couldn't really convince his heart.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess."

They stood there together awkwardly for a couple of minutes.

"C'mon," said Dean. "We better get in the car and go to a motel, get warmed up. Winter nights can be nasty up here."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

They got into the Impala and drove to a motel, checked in, and went to bed shortly thereafter.

Apart from mild pleasantries, they said nothing further to each other.

Dean lay awake on his side, facing away from Sam, staring into the darkness for several hours, wondering what life was going to be like without hearing his giant of a brother breathing in the next bed over.

He'd just never envisioned a future without Sam by his side.

He thought they'd go out guns blazing one day.

He never thought Sam, given the choice, would choose something other than Dean.

_I wish someone would choose me._

_I wish someone would stay._


	97. The Magnificent Seven - Now

Dean woke up again to a fluffy curtain of feathers right in front of his face.

He blinked at them sleepily for a few minutes.

Then he pushed against the wing with his hand.

It shuffled, pulling tighter against him, firmly lining up with his body and scooping him gently closer to Cas.

Dean grinned. He pushed at the wing again.

_Shuffle, shuffle._

The raised feathers settled a little.

Castiel made a quiet clucking sound, followed by the sleepy pigeon-coo and went into a happy warbling chatter that sounded like a series of questions and reminded Dean of a parakeet.

Dean wondered if Cas was talking in his sleep.

He pressed his face against the feathers.

"Love you," he said softly.

Cas made a long, satisfied keening trill and sighed as the feathers fluffed up around him.

Then he chirped softly and sighed.

_Cute,_ thought Dean, blushing hard.

"Cas," he said. "Time to get up, sweetheart."

Cas chirped softly again, but this time it sounded roughly like _Dean._

_Awwww,_ thought Dean, and just when he was feeling pretty relieved that Cas hadn't woken up while he was still blushing fire engine red, Castiel opened his eyes.

"Dean!" he suddenly said. "Are you sick?"

"Whoa there, zero-to-sixty," Dean laughed softly. "I'm fine."

"Your face is red!"

"Yeah, ignore that," said Dean. "It's okay, I was just, uh. I was. I gotta -"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Cas, and let him up to use the bathroom.

This time, when Dean returned, instead of Cas still sleeping, he was sitting up crosslegged on the bed and looking at Dean anxiously.

"Cas? You okay, bud?" asked Dean, going to make the coffee.

There was silence, and Dean looked over his shoulder. Cas's wings had vanished - _damn!_ \- and he was sitting there just looking like a very worried human man.

"Somethin' wrong?" asked Dean, as he poured them both a mug.

"Last night," Cas began hesitantly.

"Was awesome," said Dean, walking over to the bed and handing him the mug.

"I just," said Cas, "I don't want you to - because you can't be with me, knowing what I really am. This -"

He indicated his body.

" - it's just a costume, Dean, it's not really _me -_ "

"And believe me, dude, I like the costume," said Dean. "Really damned hot, good choice and eveything, but - you gotta believe me, Cas, real-you is also awesome and if I could figure out a way to fuck you like that, I sure as hell would."

Cas blinked at him.

"Really?"

"Really really."

Cas gave him the ghost of a smile.

"So, y'know," Dean continued, "anytime you wanna bring the wings out is fine by me."

Cas lit up from the inside out.

"You really like them?"

"Are you kidding?"

Dean paused.

"That ain't why you hid 'em, is it?" he asked. "You were scared I'd get reminded of what you really are? Aw, c'mon, Cas, your wings are the best part!"

Cas smiled, ducking his head a little.

"I'm glad you like them," he said. 

"I do."

"They're the only part of my real self I can manifest on this plane without difficulty," Cas told him. 

"Well, they're awesome, Cas," said Dean. "Like I said, I _like_ the real you. I like everything you are. I like you for _you,_ Cas, not the package you come in - nice as it is."

It was Castiel's turn to blush a little, and hide his grin behind his mug.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked as Cas took a sip of coffee.

"Anything, Dean," said Cas. "Always."

Dean hesitated, almost overwhelmed by the love sitting easy there as if it were normal for something so epic to happen to him on a daily basis.

Well, it was, but it was usually negative.

This was -

more than he could have dared dream.

"You're an angel," Dean pressed on finally, "so - what's with all the bird habits?"

Cas laughed. 

Straight up laughed right in his face.

"Sorry!" he apologized, "I'm sorry, Dean. It's just a funny question."

"Why's that?"

"Birds have angel habits," he said. "Feathered, winged creatures were given angelic aspects just as mankind has some angelic aspects, like the ability to reason and choose."

"Okay," said Dean. "So what kind of bird aspects do angels have?"

"All of them."

"What?"

"Individual bird species have one or two angelic habits," Cas explained. "Angels have them all."

"Damn," said Dean. "Am I going to have to become an ornithologist?"

"That may be the wisest course of action," said Castiel, but the corners of his eyes crinkled.

"Shut up," said Dean, but he privately resolved to brush up a little more on his general bird facts.

He hoped to surprise Cas with more understanding of his culture in the future.

"Weren't you going to meet Sam for breakfast?" asked Cas.

Dean rubbed his eyes.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "Shit. I hate these _talks_. But _Rowena_?"

Cas regarded him over the top of his mug.

"I would caution you to be openminded," said Castiel. "After all, your circumstances are not entirely dissimilar."

"This is different!" Dean argued. "You're - and she's - !"

"Think about it," said Castiel.

Dean finished his coffee and pulled on a shirt.

"Here I go," he said.

"I'll give you your privacy for half an hour," said Cas. "Then I'll be down at the breakfast bar."

"Okay," said Dean. "Wish me luck."

"Good luck."

***

Dean walked down the stairs and outside onto the hotel's wide green lawn where they were serving breakfast because of the rare sunny day. 

He loved the slender, tall palms, and the dark beauty of the ocean beyond the rocky shoreline. The white tablecloths and the food piled high there made him feel like he was in a very fancy sort of place.

He wondered if this was how rich people lived every day.

Sam was sitting at a table already, reading a newspaper. There was a half-drunk glass of orange juice next to a plateful of fruit and cheese.

"Hey," said Dean, sitting down with him.

Sam looked up, and tucked his hair behind his ears to keep it out of his face in the slight breeze off the ocean.

"Hey," said Sam. 

They just looked at each other for a while.

"So how'd it happen?" asked Dean.

"Well," said Sam. "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out, okay?"

"I'll do my best."

"She's been helping me with my studies," Sam launched into the story. "I figured that I've been doing this for years anyway and I may as well become a witch. Rowena said I had natural talent. We have a lot of common, being told we were inherently evil, having to fight for everything, going bad - whatever you want to call it, we just kind of - got along. Then we got closer and closer. We've had shared trauma, we have similar interests in magic. It turned into something more."

"Are you happy?" Dean asked.

Sam stared at him.

"What, no _but she's a witch, Sam!_ this time?" he asked. "Nothing?"

Dean stared out at the Pacific.

The deep navy color reminded him of Cas's eyes.

"Let's just say I've had time to think about it," said Dean. "Besides, y'know. Me an' Cas."

"Yeah, let's talk about you and Cas," said Sam.

"Whoa, hey, this was supposed to be a one-way talk!" said Dean.

"Maybe, but it turns out you're kind of okay with it, so that means it's your turn."

Dean breathed out through his nose and thought about it.

_If I'm gonna change - if **we're** gonna change, if this is gonna even have a chance of working, I gotta make an effort, and not just with Cas._

"Okay," he said. "I'm in love with him, Sam. Fucking truly madly deeply, stupid-ass in love."

Sam grinned.

"I know."

"Fuck you you know."

"I do. I just didn't think _you_ would ever know, much less admit it like this out loud where _people can actually hear you._ Have you told him yet?"

Damn it, he was blushing again! Damn his fair skin.

"Yeah, actually," he said. "A lot."

Sam clutched at his heart.

" _Yeah, a lot?_ " Sam mimicked Dean's rough voice. "Who the hell are you and what have you done with my big brother?"

"I told Cas I wanted to change," said Dean, although admitting this to Sam was like pulling teeth. "I want to be good for him, Sam. He deserves it. He's always been there for us. He's always come back to me. Always. So. Some things have got to change around here and I think this whole communication - " here Dean indicated himself and Sam - " _thing,_ is a good place to start."

Sam sat back.

He picked up his orange juice and drank some of it.

"Wow," he said. 

"What?"

"I just never thought I'd see the day when we'd really start making better choices," he said. "It's been like a skipping record, all these years, you know. Lies, betrayal, holding everything in, whatever you want to call it, we're - "

"Unhealthy," Dean filled in. "It's fucking unhealthy, Sam, is what it is, and you know what, I get that now. And I ain't sayin' that it's gonna be perfect, or I'm gonna always do it perfectly, hell I got a mountain of bullshit to get through just to get outta bed in the morning, but."

Dean looked his brother in the eye.

"Waking up next to Cas makes it worth it," he said. "Makes me think I can do it - that _we_ can do it. That we're capable of changing. For the better. If we want."

Sam nodded.

"Yeah, you know what?" he said. "I'm in. We've stopped multiple apocalypses, fought monsters, you've somehow survived without pie. I think we can do this, I think we can change."

They shared a smile.

"Deal," said Dean. "So let's change."


	98. The Outlaw Josey Wales - Then

"You want me to make you squids?"

"Squids?" asked Sam. "I'm not a kid anymore, Dean."

"Aw, c'mon," said Dean. "We got a kitchenette, let me make you dinner."

"You call that dinner?"

"What is it with you tonight?" asked Dean. "You're being a bitch."

Sam breathed a long sigh of frustration.

"Yeah you're right," he said. "I just hate it when you get - all _like_ that."

"All like what?"

"The minute we get around any guy who isn't like, supercharged manly-man macho, you freak the fuck out. It's not a good look, Dean. I want to be able to always look up to my brother, not that I can anymore because you're freakishly short -"

"Hey!"

" - but man, you're so not PC as it is, and you'd think with all the people we've met all over this damned country you'd be a little less, I don't know, bigoted!"

"I am not bigoted!" Dean argued. "I'm not, Sam! I just get uncomfortable, is all."

"Yeah, and why is that?" asked Sam. 

Dean didn't respond.

"See?" he said. "Jeez, Dean, you sure have a lot of weird hangups about what it means to be a man. Do you see _me_ acting all weird like that around people? I know Dad is kind of a jerk but that doesn't mean you have to be like him in _every_ way. I wish you wouldn't try to imitate him so much."

"What are you talking about, Sam?"

"You drive his car, you like his music, you do _everything_ to impress him, and Dean - the man's not even here!" said Sam. "The least you could do is drop the damned homophobia and treat people like they're _people,_ Dean."

Dean knew that there was something he could say to explain to Sam that he was misinterpreting what he was seeing. But he just couldn't. Gay guys were still getting beaten up and murdered in places like this and he couldn't put them in that kind of danger. Dean by himself, sure, he didn't matter, but he couldn't do that to Sam.

So best to keep the mask up.

He wondered if the mask would become his face, if he wore it long enough.

So he chose the middle path.

"You're right, Sam, I'm really sorry," said Dean. "That was shitty of me. I'm going to try to be nicer to your friends."

Sam's jaw dropped.

"Did you just apologize?" he asked. " _And_ admit I'm right? Are you feeling okay?"

"You're cruisin' close to me takin' it back."

Sam gave him a quick hug and a grin.

"Yeah. Okay. And Dean -"

"What?"

"I _like_ the real you, under there," said Sam. "I just wish you'd see it too."

"Okay, Oprah," said Dean. "I got the message."

"So can we have squids for dinner?"

Dean grinned at his brother.

"You bet."

***

Dean stood over two pots of boiling water, one with hot dogs he had cut halfway into fours, and one with ramen noodles.

Sam was sitting up against the headboard of his bed, reading a book as the television played an episode of _Friends._

"What happened with that meeting, by the way?" Sam asked, with an air of feigned nonchalance.

"Hm?"

"The one you went to, while I was at the bar."

"Oh," said Dean. "It was nothin', just this lawyer guy Solomon and Tracy wanted us to see."

Dean strained the water out of the ramen noodles and ripped open the little chicken flavoring spice packets, stirring it in with some green food coloring.

"A lawyer? What for?"

"He said that he helps people with abusive families."

Dean chuckled and shook his head.

"Kind of too late for us, isn't it?" asked Sam.

"Not according to him. He says he helps _vulnerable adults_ too. But we ain't weak, Sam."

"Dean, that doesn't mean weakness."

"Well, whatever," said Dean. "I told him we were good."

Dean took the hot dogs out of the other pot, the four-cut bottoms of which had curled outward now so they looked vaguely like squid. He drew little smiley faces on them with ketchup and mustard and set them on top of the green dyed ramen noodles that resembled seaweed.

"Ta-da!" said Dean. "Squids are served!"

He turned around and walked over to the little table, setting the bowls in front of each chair.

"You wanna beer or somethin' else?" asked Dean.

"Beer, please," said Sam, sitting down in his own chair and digging into the food.

Dean brought them both a beer and removed the caps, handing one to his brother as he sat down and picked up his fork.

As he started to eat, he could feel Sam's eyes on him.

"Dean -" Sam began.

"I told the guy we'd be here for a couple of weeks," said Dean, which was enough of an admission that he was considering it without having to say it. "Okay, Sam?"

There was a pause, and Dean could sense that Sam had decided this battle was a fragile one.

"Okay."

"Now eat your food."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Dean's right about this time period - it was very dangerous to be a gay or bi man, particularly in more rural regions of the States, and there were a lot of horribly violent outcomes in those days. His own experience described early on in this story set the stage for his discomfort with it. This type of experience is still the reality in many places around the world today. There is a great deal of work left to do.
> 
> 2\. This meal is cheap and delicious.
> 
> Eating ramen noodles by draining them first and then mixing in the powder packets is awesome all on its own, even without the fancy addition of hot dogs or other bells and whistles.
> 
> If you're feeling particularly indulgent, you can also melt a slice of American cheese on top of it.


	99. Stagecoach - Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for referenced past violence between Dean & Cas with some sexual overtones

Dean turned to see Castiel walking out of the hotel and going to the breakfast bar, loading up his plate.

He watched the angel, soft and fond.

"Wow," said Sam from behind him. "You've got it bad."

"Yeah I do," said Dean.

And when Cas came over to sit with them, Dean held his hand under the table, blushing fiercely the entire time.

***

"As great as this has been," Sam told Ke'ala on their next visit, "I think we need to get back to the mainland."

"I understand," she said with a smile. "I only wish that I had more to tell."

"Do you have any idea why these children would be appearing to the drifters just before they were killed?"

"I can only guess," said Ke'ala. "Those are _their own_ childhood memories, so it may be they manifest in times of great distress."

"Like how people say that your life flashes in front of your eyes," Dean said.

Ke'ala nodded.

"Something like that, yes," she said.

"Well, thanks for everything," said Sam, shaking her hand. "Anytime you need help, just let us know."

"It's been good to meet you both," she said sweetly, and said her goodbyes.

"Not that we aren't happy to be here," Castiel put in, "but is there a reason you wanted us to come to the island rather than telling Sam any of this on the phone?"

Ke'ala's expression grew wan.

She held Castiel's gaze.

Dean was impressed.

He thought only he could do that.

"I am?" Cas asked Ke'ala suddenly, startling Dean. "Not Sam or Dean?"

"No," she said. "Only you, seraph."

Castiel nodded, and then turned to go.

"What was that about?" asked Dean.

"Prayer," said Castiel, and did not elaborate.

He put his hands on their shoulders, and they vanished.

***

_Dean was beating Castiel._

_Over and over again, even though Cas begged him to stop._

_Why wasn't he **fighting?** Why wasn't he fighting back?! He was full angel again, he could -_

_but he didn't, and Dean just kept going, because -_

_God, he wanted to fuck him so bad. But he couldn't do that, so he let out all his frustration this way, his hands on Cas's body in violence where he'd wanted, oh God he'd wanted to touch him sweetly, soft skin on skin, lovemaking like violence and the moans dripping from Castiel's lips for a different reason -_

_and he got on top of Cas, just like he'd always dreamed, nothing like he'd always dreamed, staring down at the angel's bloody face, and raised the angel blade._

_Dean was so fucking hard, his body a confused wreck of mixed signals, his lips trembled with how much he wanted to kiss Castiel, how much he wanted -_

_how much he **wanted** -_

_but the Mark was screaming inside him now and his hand tightened on the blade, either way it was penetration, claiming -_

_Castiel's hand on his wrist, warm, comforting._

_Beautiful, the shine in those blue eyes._

_"Dean," said Castiel. "Please."_

_But the fires had been stoked high - in any other circumstance, this would be climax -_

_Dean stabbed downward._

_Into a book, burying the blade, ignoring how badly he wanted to bury himself, lose himself inside of Cas, to be told he was wanted and loved -_

_too late._

_"You and Sam stay the hell away from me," he said._

_The last image burned into his mind was of Cas, his bloody face, and those blue eyes beseeching._

" _Augh!_ " Dean shouted as he sat up suddenly in bed.

Cas, rumpled hair and ruffled black wings, opened one eye.

"Dean," he said, "Dean, what is it?"

He sat up, wide awake now, stretching his wings as a human might stretch their arms and yawn.

Dean panted and wiped his forehead. He was absolutely drenched in sweat.

"I," he said. "Fuck, Cas. I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry, man."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I had -" his voice hitched on a sob. "A dream about. I tried to kill you, Cas, I almost did."

"But you didn't," Cas said softly, dropping a kiss on the back of Dean's shoulder. He didn't get any closer, and Dean appreciated that. After nightmares and the flashbacks he often didn't want to be touched. It was the opposite of comfort.

Dean kept breathing through his tears and his relief that they were here, now, in the bunker, in his own bed, sharing with Castiel, making a go at making this work.

"I wanted you, even then, Cas," Dean confessed. "But I couldn't - and I - God, I'm so fucked up."

"They made me kill you, Dean."

Dean looked over his shoulder at Cas, sitting there looking at him in the shadowy play of the lamp on the side table, sleepy with those beautiful dark wings.

"What?" he asked.

"Naomi. When she had me under her control. She - she made me kill thousands of copies of you," he said, his voice trembling. "But when it came time to do it, I couldn't."

"Holy shit, Cas, what the fuck?" Dean said, his own dream fading away like mist now as he turned to face Castiel.

"You asked me what broke the connection," said Castiel. "I couldn't tell you then, but I can tell you now. It was you. It was because I loved you so much I couldn't do it."

Dean stared at Cas.

"I - I was going to say I love you," he said. "I just - couldn't. But that's what I should have said, because I did."

"All the way back then?"

"All the way back then and more," said Dean.

"I began to fall in love when I rescued your soul from Hell," said Cas. "And when I rebuilt you."

Dean smiled a little. The tears were drying on his skin.

"Guess it's hard to surprise a guy who knows you inside out like that," said Dean.

"I thought so too, at first," said Cas. "But there's knowing, and there's _knowing._ There's so much I still want to learn about you, Dean."

"Well, we've made a start."

"That we have. Do you want to talk more about it?"

Dean shook his head. Sometimes talking helped, but so did letting go.

"Do you?" Dean asked. Cas blinked, then thought about it and also shook his head.

Dean leaned forward and kissed Castiel on the forehead. Then he sat back.

"I ain't gonna be able to sleep again tonight," said Dean. "What do you say to a Western movie marathon? I can show you all my favorites. I mean, I guess you probably know what they are and everything, but there's something different about watchin' stuff together."

Castiel nodded.

"There is something different about sharing the songs and the stories you love," he said.

"Awesome," said Dean. "I'll go make the popcorn."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the later-than-usual update, I've been a little under the weather! Nothing serious though.
> 
> Speaking of which - wear masks, social distance! If the drifters of America can do it, you can too.


	100. Little Big Man - Then

The following night, they returned to the bar, and Dean had to admit that Sam's new friends were actually pretty fucking cool.

He picked up a pack of smokes, and when Sam opened his mouth, Dean said:

"If you want me to do this, then I get to smoke? Okay? That's the deal."

Sam blew air out of his nose like a bull, but then nodded.

"Fine. Deal."

As it turned out, the guys had a lot to share.

During one part of the conversation, Dean leaned in to Miss Jackson.

"Don't you find it hard?" he asked quietly. "Dressing like that, looking like that?"

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" asked Miss Jackson, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray.

"I mean," said Dean, indicating his dress. "That."

"Honey, I work at the coal plant across the bridge," said Miss Jackson. "Ain't nothin' more manly than that. But the thing is, you gotta admit: all across the States, you've lived on the road, you've seen things. Gender norms aren't really norms when you don't exactly have a society to speak of. Sure, there are assholes around here, sometimes I think we got more than our fair share, but mostly? They leave me alone. I'm good at my job, this is what I wanna do on my days off, who cares? I don't know where you got your ideas of manhood, son, but they don't remind me of a drifter. They remind me of some of the brainwashed idiots we got around here."

Dean hung his head.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Kid, you're still young, you didn't mean anything by it," said Miss Jackson. "Hell, I'm a drag queen. There are people out there who were born as women, but they're men, and vice versa. There are intersex people. There are gay and bi and lesbian people. All kinds of people. So you gotta see that the whole gender thing, it's a made-up thing. It doesn't exist. Follow your heart, kid. Be who you are, it's all that you've got. Seems to me that you're living for somebody else every day. When are you gonna start living for you?"

Dean felt a little overwhelmed and wrongfooted after this conversation, and decided to go outside for some air. Much as he enjoyed smoking, the place was filled with it, and he wanted some time to think. So he left Sam there, laughing with Fred about something, and went outside to look out over Lake Superior in the darkness beneath the stars.

"Dean?"

Dean turned around to see Ashley approaching him.

 _Oh, shit, here it comes,_ he thought.

"I, uh, just wanted to let you know that I recognized you," said Ashley, embarrassed. "And to ask you for a favor."

"What's that?" asked Dean, figuring that protesting the fact he probably blew this guy somewhere on the I-35 at a rest stop wasn't really going to cut it.

"It's just," said Ashley. "Fred doesn't know I used to do stuff like that, and I would rather he didn't."

"Your secret's safe with me," said Dean. "Not like I tell anybody about that shit."

Ashley gave him a surprised look.

"Not even your little brother?" he asked.

" _Especially_ not my little brother," Dean emphasized. 

"So we're kind of in the same boat," said Ashley, putting his hands in his jacket pocket and rocking back on his heels.

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "How'd you recognize me, anyway?"

Ashley looked at him.

"Are you kidding?" he asked. "The beautiful guy with sad eyes and perfect lips? I never forgot you. Had a few fantasies, once or twice. I guess you don't remember me at all."

"I should have," Dean admitted. "You're kinda my type."

Ashley grinned at him, and then looked at the ground.

"I love Fred though," he said. "I really do. I just don't want him to know I was doing - that."

"You don't do it anymore?"

"No, I don't cheat. Even on the road."

"Must be nice, to have someone like that in your life."

"You have your brother."

"Obligation, not choice," said Dean, as if he was reminding himself.

Maybe he was.

"Have you ever thought about sticking around somewhere?" asked Ashley. He put his hands up. "This isn't a come-on, I'm serious. Fred works the boats, the money's good and the season's fairly short, then you get to spend the winter with your feet kicked up. What do you say?"

Dean looked out at the dark expanse of the water.

It'd still be travel, and he'd earn an honest living.

"Better than getting paid for head in truck stops, anyway," said Ashley. "Probably safer, too."

He gave the lake an askance look.

"Well. Maybe."

Dean smiled. He was warming to the idea a little bit.

"You know what? That actually sounds kinda cool. I'll think about it."

"Do."

"You know what, I'm pretty tired," Dean said. "Can you tell Sam I went back to the motel? He can call me there if he's worried."

"Sure," said Ashley. "Your secret's safe with me, too. Beautiful boy - it's too bad we met again while I wasn't available. You know."

Dean nodded, not having the heart to explain that he wouldn't have been available for a relationship anyway - quickies and head in dirty bathrooms were more his speed. He only let it be publicly known that he screwed women, anyway.

"Honestly?" said Dean. "I'm flattered, but you're a lucky man. Fred's an awesome guy."

"He is, isn't he?" asked Ashley. "You have a good night, Dean. And think about what I said."

"I will."

And with their secrets in each other's pockets, the two men parted in the darkness beside the deep waters of the lake.

***

Back at the motel, Dean was listening to the radio while he starfished on the bed.

A song came on that immediately caught his attention, and when the usual sense of _this isn't the_ _ **right** kind of music you're allowed to like _bubbled up inside him, he pushed it away and concenterated on the lyrics instead.

_Call you up in the middle of the night_

_Like a firefly without a light_

_You were there like a blowtorch burnin'_

_I was a key that could use a little turnin'_

_So tired that I couldn't even sleep_

_So many secrets I couldn't keep_

_Promised myself I wouldn't weep_

_One more promise I couldn't keep_

_It seems no one can help me now_

_I'm in too deep, there's no way out_

_This time I have really led myself astray._

_Runaway train, never goin' back_

_Wrong way on a one-way track_

_Seems like I should be gettin' somewhere_

_Somehow I'm neither here nor there._

_Can you help me remember how to smile?_

_Make it somehow all seem worthwhile_

_How on earth did I get so jaded?_

_Life's mysteries seem so faded._

_I can go where no one else can go_

_I know what no one else knows_

_Here I am just a-drownin' in the rain_

_With a ticket for a runaway train._

_And everything seems cut and dry_

_Day and night_

_Earth and sky_

_Somehow I_

_Just don't believe it._

_Runaway train, never goin' back_

_Wrong way on a one-way track_

_Seems like I should be gettin' somewhere_

_Somehow I'm neither here nor there._

_Bought a ticket for a runaway train_

_Like a madman laughin' at the rain_

_Little out of touch, little insane_

_It's just easier than dealin' with the pain._

_Runaway train, never goin' back_

_Wrong way on a one-way track_

_Seems like I should be gettin' somewhere_

_Somehow I'm neither here nor there._

_Runaway train, never comin' back_

_Runaway train, tearin' up the track_

_Runaway train, burnin' in my veins_

_Runaway but it always seems the same._

Dean's temples and hair were soaked with tears as the song faded away.

He felt how badly he wanted someone to love him, to choose him, to _stay._

A new song came on the radio, but nothing like the last one.

The lyrics just kept echoing inside his head.

Music had that kind of effect on people.

***

When Sam returned to the motel a few hours later, Dean was still up, flicking through the channels.

"We're gonna go see Jayfeather tomorrow," he informed his brother.

"Jayfeather?" repeated Sam.

"The lawyer. The one who Tracy and Solomon suggested."

Sam broke out in a smile.

" _Really_?" he asked. "Wow, Dean, that's great! What changed your mind?"

"Change of heart," Dean said gruffly. "It's late. Better get some sleep so we're ready in the morning."

And with that, he turned over in his bed, away from Sam.

A few minutes later, Sam followed suit, and the light clicked off.

Dean didn't fall asleep for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember how moving this song was when it came out, and have reproduced it here in its entirety. The accompanying music video featured pictures of runaways, many of whom were found again because of the video and song.
> 
> It has long been very meaningful to drifters, to hobos, to the lost.
> 
> The song itself still feels powerful and poignant even now, nearly thirty years after its initial release.


	101. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance - Now

" _Cas, Cas, help me!_ " Dean cried out, shrinking in on himself, the darkness returning -

_the memories, the memories were back to haunt him_

_and hunt him_

"Dean, I'm here," said Cas, taking his hand.

Dean tried to focus on the cool skin of Castiel's hand, the strong grip of his fingers.

"What do you need?"

"Wings," Dean panted out. "Please."

Soft, downy feathers suddenly surrounded him, bringing him safety and comfort and keeping the memories at bay. Dean felt the strength of Castiel's wings encircling him, settling around him like a fortress. 

Eventually, Dean came back to himself.

"What was it?" asked Castiel gently. "Was it hell?"

Dean shook his head.

"It's almost never hell," he said, shaking, his breath coming in long, slow shudders. "It's - back then, Cas. No agency, knowing nobody was gonna save me, knowing I couldn't save myself. Fuckin' weird, huh? You'd expect it to be hell, but."

"I wouldn't expect it to be anything," said Castiel, not touching any of Dean apart from his hand, keeping his wings where Dean had asked for them but no closer.

Dean gazed into the tired eyes of his angel and wondered how he had ever gotten so lucky, to find someone so understanding, to be loved like Castiel loved him, pure and perfect inside and out.

"Thanks, man," he said, and meant so much more.

***

Later, Sam came galumphing into the kitchen with his laptop, where Dean was trying out his famous eggs Benedict on Cas.

"Got a case," said Sam. "Remember Goatman?"

"We got a case on _Goatman?_ " Dean said with his mouth full.

Sue him, he made _awesome_ eggs Benedict, okay?

Sam rolled his eyes in disgust, but it didn't prevent him from taking the plate for himself.

"So what's the problem?" asked Dean. 

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like, did he _kill_ anybody or whatever?" Dean asked.

Sam gave him a strange look.

"There have been deaths, yeah," he said.

"Okay. Are we sure he did it? 'Cause you know, there are plenty of humans that can kill people with an axe too, y'know."

"Huh."

Sam sat back and was looking at Dean with a newfound air of respect.

"What?"

"It's just that you're usually all about the guns-blazing option," said Sam. "You don't necessarily ask whether the monster is really a monster or not."

"Same goes for you," Dean pointed out. "Let's just say that the whole _dedication to change_ thing includes not going off half-cocked anymore. Murder's still murder, Sam, monster or not. It was just easier to believe we were always the good guys. Nowadays, I'm not so sure."

Dean gave Cas a soft look.

"Think that whole _not all monsters are necessarily monsters_ thing is startin' to sink in," he said, and reached across the breakfast table to brush Castiel's fingers with his knuckles.

Sam watched this with all evidence of shock and also enjoyment.

"Wow," he said. "Cas really is good for you."

"Yeah, well," said Dean. "It's about time we changed the story, Sam. It was gettin' a little stale. You should try it sometime."

"Better yet, I'll show you," said Sam. "I can invite Rowena over for dinner if you like."

Dean made a face.

"Clearly I haven't thought this through," he said.

Sam gave him an angry look.

"I thought we got past this whole _witches are bitches_ thing with you," said Sam.

"Oh, I'm totally over that," said Dean. "It's _thinking about my little brother and a girl_ that I object to."

"And me having a front-row seat to you and Cas is different?"

"Yeah, I get big brother privileges," said Dean, smiling with his mouth full at Castiel.

"Of all the people on this earth, Cas, _this_ was the one for you?" muttered Sam.

"Yes, Sam," said Castiel, oblivious to the tone of Sam's voice as he preferred to stare longingly at Dean despite finally having him for himself.

"We can head out after breakfast," Dean said.

"Thought we had a new policy about not killing monsters that are good," said Sam.

"We have a new policy of not _automatically_ killing," Dean clarified. "If the guy's a bastard, well, then, he's going down."

"Okay, Butch," said Sam, and Dean grinned.

***

The drive was pleasant enough, and not as far as Dean had initially expected. Goatman had apparently moved to southern Wisconsin and had opened an artisanal cheese shop there.

Like, he full-on admitted he was Goatman and everything. Even the shop's wooden sign proclaimed it to be _Goatman's Authentic Artisanal Wisconsin Cheddar - Buy Cheese From a Local Legend._

"You're here about the murders, I take it?" asked Goatman, wiping his hands on his apron. "I can see why you'd think I did it, but those stories about the axe are just stories."

"They're pretty prevalent though, aren't they?"

Goatman sighed. He really did have the face of a goat, so at least that part was accurate.

"People hate what they don't understand," he said, a little sadly. "Anything that's different, you know? Sometimes curious people would show up at my wood shop in the forest and sometimes - well, there are people who get their kicks from hurting anything they don't understand. So the axe was a deterrent. But I was never a murderer. I just wanted to be left alone."

"I can empathize with that," said Dean, glancing at Sam as if to say _see? I can use those words too._ Sam just rolled his eyes.

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that," said Castiel. "Between us, I understand."

Goatman gave Cas an evaluating look.

"Angel, right?" 

Cas nodded.

"Yeah, it's tough," said Goatman. "But at least you can conceal what you really look like. This?"

Goatman indicated his face.

"Not the easiest thing to overcome."

He sighed, and then smiled around his quaint little store, all painted-white wood and stacked with local gifts and cheeses.

"But you know what?" he said. "Americans love legends. They _love_ the Goatman thing, I doubt they know I'm the real deal. They treat it kind of like a haunted house at Halloween. But I get human contact, just like I always wanted. I'm happy for the first time since I can remember, and this place makes money hand over fist. So, I'm sorry about the murders, and I'll help in any way I can, but unfortunately I spend most of my days working on cheese. Sorry you came all this way for nothing, guys."

***

They climbed into the Impala with their arms full of whisky and bacon aged cheddar, _a gift on the house_ from Goatman.

"Any of this strike you as kind of weird at all?" Sam asked.

"Dude, this whole thing strikes me as kind of weird," said Dean, already digging into the cheese. "Oh my _God_ this is good."

"No, I mean - this is pretty tame stuff. Nothing bad happening. I thought the monsters would have us on our asses fast as we could blink after we made that deal."

"Maybe they will be," said Dean. "But I count this as a win. Remember how they were saying that some kind of heroes or saviors were cropping up all over the States? And then disappearing like ghosts? Maybe they're doing our job for us, keepin' everybody in line."

Sam sat back and nodded.

"Yeah," he said, a little doubtful. "Maybe it's easier."

***

They remained in the area for a few more days.

Castiel struck up a friendship with Goatman that he refused to elaborate on with either Dean or Sam.

At the end of the third day, the murderer was caught.

It turned out to be a human man after all.

Dean shook his head as they got into the car to go back to Kansas.

"People are sick," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are Goatman legends all over the United States, but the ones I know best are from Wisconsin.
> 
> Eggs Benedict are an American invention.


	102. Thunderheart - Then

The next morning they showed up at Jayfeather's office bright and early. The morning sun over the lake was bright red and the air was filled with the morning steam off the water.

"Gotta admit, I didn't expect to see you again," said Jay, lighting up a cigarette and tossing the pack to Dean, who did likewise.

"Yeah, I talked to some people and thought, what the hell," said Dean. "This is my little brother Sam."

"Do you want to fill me in?"

"That depends. Just how much do you know?"

"I know you're hunters, or the sons of a hunter, at least."

Dean sat back, startled.

"Does _everybody_ know?" he asked the room in general.

Jay laughed.

"No, your secret's safe," he told them. "Solomon sent you to me for a reason. Now. How can I help you?"

"It's our dad," Sam leaned forward, clearly deciding to take point here because he wasn't sure if Dean would. "And what happened to our mom."

***  
They spent most of the morning explaining their situation to Jay. He listened, not bothering to take any notes at Dean's request.

"Our dad is dangerous," Sam explained. "We wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"That's a hell of a story you've got there," said Jay. "But I do think I can help you. I'm glad Sol sent you to me, and I'm glad you came back. That was very brave. If you give me a couple of days to make some phone calls and inquiries, I should have a course of action we can take."

"Thank you," said Sam, getting up from his chair and shaking Jay's hand. "I can't tell you how much this means to us."

"When you get into law school, you might think about taking something in this line of work. People with lived experience of abuse usually make the best advocates."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," said Dean.

"I am."

Jay rolled up his sleeves to show them multiple cigarette burns on his arms.

Similar to the scars on Dean's body.

"Thanks," said Dean roughly, because there was suddenly something in his throat. 

He shook Jay's hand.

"Three days, tops," said Jay. "Come on by the office and I'll have something for you."

***

Later that evening, in the motel, Dean had eaten an entire tub of Top the Tater to himself.

He groaned and fell back on the bed while watching tv.

"Dean, I didn't even get any of it!" Sam complained. 

"I think I ate too much."

"Serves you right."

"Fred's right, though. It's fucking _good._ "

"Well, I wish I could have found out from experience."

"Go get another one from the store if you want it so bad, Samantha."

"Fine, but you're coming with me."

"What? No."

"You owe me."

"Sam, I got a food baby here!"

"First of all, gross. Secondly, walk it off. C'mon."

"Ugh, fine," said Dean, rolling to his feet, and followed his brother across the street to the supermarket.

***

The fluorescent white lights were bright and made Dean blink as his eyesight adjusted.

"Okay, where do they keep this stuff?" he asked Sam, as they headed toward the back of the store toward the dairy section.

"Here it is," said Sam, reaching down and grabbing a tub.

Dean glanced over his shoulder.

He froze.

"Poughkeepsie," he whispered. "Sam. _Poughkeepsie._ "

Sam froze.

"What? What is it?"

Dean swallowed.

"It's Dad," he said.

***

_Shit._

_Shit shit shit!_

"How the hell does he know we're here?" Sam hissed, as they walked around the aisles, keeping out of his way.

"I don't think he does," Dean realized. "Wrong place, wrong time, type of thing."

"What should we do?"

Dean thought about Jay, about the potential future they had away from all this, about Fred and Ashley and Miss Jackson, about a summer working aboard the boats and earning honest money for the first time in his entire life, about the possibility of a normal life.

All faded away like mist.

"I think we gotta skip town," said Dean. "And we gotta go _now_ before Dad finds -"

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

Dean shook his head, but there was a lump in his throat.

"'Sokay, Sammy," he said. "Let's get outta here before he comes out and recognizes the damned car in the parking lot across the fucking street."

Sam nodded, and they made their way out of the supermarket without John seeing them.

Dean checked out of the motel, grabbed their shit and threw it into the trunk of the Impala while Sam stood watch in the shadow of the building.

"Did he come out yet?"

"No. Maybe he's here for a while, doing a week's shopping or whatever."

"Thank our fucking lucky stars he didn't check into _this_ motel, or we'd have heard about it," said Dean. 

He started the car and put it into gear, Sam staring at the door of the supermarket the entire time.

"So far so good," said Sam.

"And for what it's worth," said Dean. "I'm sorry, too."

"Sometimes things just don't work out," said Sam in sad resignation.

Ten minutes later, they were on the highway, the lake on their left as they headed out of town to parts unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Top the Tater is *good*.


	103. High Noon - Now

"I want you to touch my soul."

Castiel's head snapped up and those blue eyes bored into him.

They were in Cas's nest, because Cas refused to let Dean sleep in his own bed, preferring to wrap around him protectively at night.

"Dean," said Cas, and _wow_ did his voice sound wrecked, "Are you sure? It can be - painful."

"Yeah," said Dean warmly. "I'm sure. Remember what I said about wanting to fuck your true form if I could? I figure this is the closest I'm gonna get."

Cas closed his eyes and sighed, like he was trying very hard to control himself.

"Then get up on the bed," he directed.

Dean didn't have to be told twice.

Suddenly, Cas was on him _everywhere._

He tied his wrists with the blue tie Dean had grown to love so much, and somehow his arms were left suspended there, as if he were tied to something he couldn't see.

Cas's movements were frantic. He was panting, his eyes were wide. He slid his palms down Dean's sides and kept making strange inhuman keening noises as if he had lost the power of speech.

"Whoa, Cas," said Dean gently. "I'm right here. You still with me?"

Cas blinked at him, made that strange chirping sound that resembled _Dean_ in a desperate, needy whine.

He straddled Dean's hips -

and _wow_ he was already so fucking hard his cock was standing up, curved toward his stomach, absolutely _dripping_ precome.

Dean wondered if he might've gotten in over his head.

Again.

Castiel's hand sunk into his chest.

Dean arched off the bed and roared in pain as a bright light suffused Castiel's hand.

It was the worst pain he'd ever felt, it just went on and on -

and suddenly, weirdly, flipped around completely -

to the most exquisite pain-pleasure sensation he'd ever felt.

Castiel's wings were out, glowing blue beneath the feathers, and the oil was dripping down his back freely.

This time, the oil was tinted glowing blue-white.

And then -

that light Castiel was touching turned from white to molten gold, and began dripping down Dean's sides and stomach, coursing together with the blue-white glow of Cas.

All Dean knew was that he was somewhere far beyond orgasm and was faintly aware that he'd come once or twice already but that was all background noise to the level of ecstasy he currently inhabited.

Cas's mouth had never closed the entire time, the angel lost to pleasure beyond human recognition.

The molten-gold light had moved from Dean's body and was now sitting lightly on top of his chest. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and Dean was amazed that such beauty could live inside him, and that Castiel had coaxed it out of him somehow.

But then, maybe his soul recognized its builder.

Suddenly, Cas, half-mad and lost, seemed to get an idea in his head. He looked down at Dean's face and hauled himself up Dean's chest, sitting again, his balls squashing against Dean's skin.

Dean figured out what he was going to do just before he did it.

Castiel, always watching for consent, glanced down at Dean again.

Dean assented with a quick nod.

This just might kill him.

He did not care.

Cas's cock made contact with that golden glow, melting around him as he thrust forward, and a sound like the end of the world issued from Castiel's throat as Dean screamed and screamed and screamed.

Castiel's eyes and mouth lit up white and his wings glowed brightly as he lost control of his vessel in climax, shrieking in his angelic voice loud enough for the next three counties to hear.

That was when the ceiling caved in, showering Castiel's wings in plaster.

The bunker plunged into darkness.

Around that point, Dean passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing weird shit is half the fun of writing these two.


	104. Rio Bravo - Then

"Okay, where to?"

They were just past the Twin Cities when Sam turned to look at him.

"Las Vegas."

Dean blinked.

" _You_ want to go to _Vegas,_ " he repeated.

"Yeah, Dean," said Sam. "I want to check my post office box. It's mid-March."

"I thought they sent those letters out in May."

"Dean."

"Yeah, all right I guess."

Dean reached into his jacket pocket and felt his pack of cigarettes and lighter -

and the edge of a small cardboard card.

He pulled it out, gave it a brief look, and sighed.

Rolling down the window, he let it fly.


	105. The Wild Bunch - Now

Dean came around just as he heard his little brother's thundering footsteps outside his room.

Cas had just finished fixing the ceiling. The lights came up in the bunker.

Sam crashed through the door.

"Hello, Sam," said Castiel, sitting up a little in bed and looking extremely sheepish.

"What _happened_?" Sam cried out in anguish. "I heard - and I saw - and the whole place - we need _windows,_ for fuck's sake!"

Dean poked his head out from under the covers.

"Sorry 'bout that, Sammy," he said. "Guess I'm too much for him."

Sam shot him a bitchface Dean wanted to put in the Louvre.

"My apologies, Sam, I will be more careful in the future," said Cas.

"Okay, look, I don't even want to know," said Sam, giving the perfectly-made-up room a suspicious look.

He paused in the doorway.

"But, uh, that thing I said about windows?" he said, and Dean recognized the terror there, riding low beneath his words, the same fear he'd heard in his brother's voice years ago after nightmares, after he cried while their father was first teaching him how to use a gun, because Sam had been a sensitive kid and he _didn't want to kill anything, Dad, please -_

"Yeah?" asked Dean, eyes and voice gone soft. 

"I meant it," said Sam. "That - I never want that to happen again."

"Do you want to sleep in here tonight?" Dean offered. "We'll take the nest, you can take the bed."

Sam swallowed.

"Yeah," he said, despite being a nearly 40-year-old man the size of a draft horse. "Yeah, okay."

So Cas and Dean slept on the floor in their nest and Sam snored gently in the bed.

It was the reason they'd always shared motel rooms, after all.

Sometimes, they were two grown men, badasses and practiced hunters.

Sometimes, they were still two scared kids who had nothing else but each other.

Now, with the addition and the protection of Castiel.

Safety in numbers, and the comfort of knowing that somebody was always there if you woke up scared at night.

***

Next morning, neither Sam or Dean made mention of what had happened.

Sam talked about a possible case back out in Tennessee - Memphis, this time.

Dean was on board, for the food and the music and to show Cas a good time.

But Sam's words kept repeating in the back of his mind, and a thought he'd had a while ago resurfaced again.

Surreptitiously, Dean started keeping an eye out.

***

" _Another_ wash?" Dean said, dropping into his chair in defeat.

"Guess so," said Sam.

"This is very strange," Castiel intoned.

"Maybe," Dean began.

They looked at him, as the waitress brought them an enormous tray of barbecued ribs.

"Maybe what?" asked Sam.

"I mean, maybe it's over?" Dean hazarded. "Me and Cas are together despite what the angels tried to do. Monsters withdrew because they'd rather have us on their side than the angels. All we're getting here are calls for monsters that aren't monsters and ghosts that aren't ghosts."

"Are you saying -"

"Maybe this is it, Sam," said Dean. "We're done. Finally."

***

That night, in the motel, Dean was lazily running his knuckles up and down Castiel's arm.

Cas was just staring at Dean as if he couldn't believe he was there at all, couldn't believe any of this was happening, and the stunned look on his face was just so damned _cute._

"Maybe we should be more careful with what we get up to in the future," said Dean. "Man, I _love_ all the kinky shit, and believe me, at first I thought - maybe it was gonna be too weird. But our _lives_ are already so weird, and hey - the opportunity to raise my kink level to nonexistent sexual practices until we've tried them, talk about a notch on the bedpost."

Castiel nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment.

"I - I should have known," he said. "My desire for - for your soul - is - "

Castiel trembled just at the thought of it. Dean smiled at him.

"Man, I used to be so uptight about everything, about liking guys, talking. And here we are, having a kind of sex I am pretty sure hasn't even been invented yet."

Cas gave him a hesitant smile in return.

"What's with the heavy breathing, anyway?" said Dean. "I thought you didn't need to breathe."

"I don't," said Castiel. "You make me want to."

"Huh."

Castiel snuggled down in the bed with Dean.

"You sure have been sleeping a lot lately," observed Dean. "Should I be worried? Like. I don't want you to be losin' your mojo again because of me."

"My 'mojo' is fine," said Castiel. "I just sleep because you are warm and comfortable. I enjoy fluffing up my feathers around you, Dean."

Dean gave Cas a stupid grin.

"Damn," he said, all for this new and improved feelings-sharing version of himself.

So far, it hadn't killed him.

He felt like some kind of shy animal, cautiously emerging from hiding and finding out that hey actually, the world was kind of okay after all.

Kind of really okay, he thought, as he stared down fondly at a pair of half-lidded sapphire blues.

***

Dean was in an incredible mood as he walked down the street with his brother and his angel.

"Hey!" he said. "Holy shit, a five-and-dime store! I thought these places had gone out of business."

"Want to go in?" asked Sam.

"Are you kidding? Hell yeah," said Dean.

Inside, the store had worn old dark wooden floorboards and was piled floor to ceiling with _stuff._ Sam and Cas were wandering around the place, Sam exclaiming about this or that thing he hadn't seen in years, when something caught Dean's eye.

It was one of those pieces of white cardstock in a little ziploc baggie. Inside it were rings, the plastic seethrough kind that stretched around your finger.

The rings in this one were a deep blue and bright green.

It was the kind of thing you put a quarter in for and got one, like temporary tattoos or the little plastic eggs with toys inside.

 _Eggs,_ thought Dean with a fondness that had never accompanied thoughts about eggs before.

He just stared at the plastic rings. They were for kids, the kind of thing you won at the arcade with tickets from winning at skeeball.

 _Nah. It's stupid,_ thought Dean.

He started to walk away, and then paused.

He went back to look again.

He felt the rings through the packaging. They were sturdy but a little stretchy, thick with some give, so they could fit different finger sizes.

They seemed big enough to fit his fingers for sure. 

_Must be some kind of novelty gag gift for grownups, if they're big enough to fit me,_ thought Dean.

But he knew that he had good memories of state fairs they'd been to across the country, and since this place was a novelty in and of itself, Dean figured there was a reason they were selling adult-sized jelly rings at the five-and-dime.

He looked at the pricetag. 

Two bucks.

He made a split second decision and grabbed them, walked over to the register and handed the cashier two dollars.

She gave him his receipt and he crammed the little bag and cardstock into his jacket pocket before going to meet up with Sam and Cas, talking enthusiastically about the old Sunkist Orange signs hanging on the wall.

Dean smiled with secret knowledge, his fingers tracing the shape of the rings inside his jacket pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the very last five-and-dime stores in the USA is in Memphis, Tennessee.


	106. Lonesome Dove - Then

They got into Vegas a few days later.

Sam had spent half the time arguing that Dean should have kept Jayfeather's contact information, and that they could go back when the coast was clear.

"Never hit the same town twice," Dean said.

"Man, sometimes you sound so much like Dad it's like an echo," grumbled Sam. "We don't have to trash everything we come across, Dean."

"It's for his own protection, okay?" said Dean. "Do you want Dad to find out somehow? Do you want Dad to find Fred or Ashley or Miss Jackson?"

Sam gave Dean a horrified look.

"Well, no, but -"

"If I die on a hunt or something and that card is in my pocket, what do you think's gonna happen?" Dean demanded. "You've seen what he's done after Mom died! The man is crazy obsessed, okay? I'd matter more to him dead than alive, you know that."

Sam had nothing to say to that. Both brothers didn't talk much afterwards, because they were afraid of the naked truth in those words.

***

Still, leaning against the Impala in the early morning sun of Las Vegas, before it had time to really get geared up and going, Dean thought maybe things were going to work out okay.

They managed to give their dad the slip more than once, and so far, they'd survived, all on their own.

Dean was aware that they were running low on funds and he'd need to do something about that soon, but otherwise, he was feeling pretty good about things.

"Dean," Sam shouted, barreling towards him with paper clutched in his hands. "Dean!"

Dean immediately went for his gun. 

"What? What is it?" he asked. "Something after you?"

Sam laughed.

"No, no," said Sam, his smile blinding. "Look, Dean! I got in! _I got into Stanford on a full scholarship!_ "

He waved the paper in front of Dean's face.

Dean took it as if he were in a dream.

Sure enough, right there in black and white.

His eyes crawled from the paper back up to his brother, moving slow, as if he were in a nightmare.

"Great," said Dean. "Congratulations."

He saw Sam's smile fall as Dean handed the paper back to his little brother.

Dean turned away and braced his hands on the Impala's hood.

"Dean?" Sam's voice had gone all soft and weird like it did when he was trying to be sympathetic, the little bastard.

"Happy for you, Sammy," Dean managed to squeeze out.

No. 

You know what?

He could do this.

If he could fight monsters since the age of four to protect Sammy, he could do this.

He could do this for his kid brother.

He bit his tongue so hard it almost bled and got his shit together real fast.

Dean turned around.

"No, I mean it, kid," said Dean. "I'm so fucking proud of you. Just didn't want you to see me get all misty. C'mere."

He hugged Sam so hard that he was sure he heard something crack in there but the hell with it, not like the kid had ever seen a chiropractor, he probably needed it.

"Thanks, Dean," said Sam, the brilliant smile right back on his face like the sun coming out from a cloud. "You don't know how much it means to me that you're happy for me, because this is the best day of my life."

_The best day of your life is the day you got told for sure you'd be leaving me._

Dean bit his tongue again.

This time, he tasted iron.

"I think we should celebrate," said Dean. "Go on a real vacation this time, like we tried before. We know where Dad is, so let's go as far away from him as we can."

"Really?" asked Sam, his eyes shining. "You mean it?"

"'Course I mean it," said Dean. "You're my little brother."

"This is _amazing,_ thank you so much!" said Sam. "And we kind of got interrupted in Florida, you know, so -"

"You wanna go back to Daytona?"

"I was thinking of somewhere even further," said Sam. "More natural beauty, more culture."

"Like?"

"How about the Keys?"

God, any other time, any other day, Dean would be _down._ He'd go there in a minute and love every second of it.

And he still would, but the whole thing was going to be tinged with bitter disappointment and melancholy.

Still. He could do this for Sam.

_Man up, asshole. Kid wants a vacation in a place you love. Get it fucking together, for fuck's sake._

"Sounds awesome," said Dean.

"Great, you want to head out in the morning?" asked Sam. "Because I know I have a po box here, but that's because Dad comes through here so much. I've never really liked Vegas."

"Yeah, me neither," said Dean.

From now on, it was his least favorite place in the country.

So they checked in to a motel for the night.

Dean went off and got hammered and fucked some blonde girl.

In the morning, he couldn't even remember her name, and snuck out of her hotel room without saying goodbye.

When he got back to their room just as dawn was breaking, Dean stared down at his little brother sleeping peacefully and tried not to think over the sound of his own heart breaking.

Miserable, he crawled into his own bed and passed out until noon.

They ended up paying for another night at the motel, and left for the Keys the following morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drifters live life in 24-hour cycles, or more accurately, the hours of a motel. Three days is a long time, three months is an extended stay, six months is near-eternity in a single place. The very idea that other people live lives that are relatively similar over long periods is somewhat mystifying to us. We thrive on this lifestyle and find comfort in it the same way I assume people who are stationary find comfort in a life that is somewhat continuous and ongoing. Just as those who prefer the latter find it uncomfortable to read, watch, or consider the former lifestyle, the same is true of drifters. 
> 
> Many of us experience extreme social pressure to live that continuous lifestyle, and some try it, only to find that wasn't what would make them happy. I remember reading some reactions to the move into the bunker and thinking how reminiscent they were of the things I, and many fellow drifters and hobos, have heard throughout their lives. 'Have you finally settled down? Are you happy now? I'm so glad you're in one place!' That happiness is all about the audience, never about the subject, and it made me extremely uncomfortable. Even on a show about drifters, people were much happier when they chose (somehow without complaint?) a stationary life, despite being shown for years to be the opposite kind of people. As I've mentioned before, it seems that the program likes to show and then silence lifestyles of various kinds.


	107. Cimarron - Now

"Sam. Sammy."

Sam turned to Dean. They were back at the bunker again and Sam had his boots up on the table. He was eating something called moon cheese right out of the bag. Dean would've been proud if he hadn't suspected it was health food. He'd accept Sam putting his feet up on the table as a win.

"What?" Sam replied, popping another one of the mysterious things into his mouth. Dean gave it a suspicious look and then shook his head.

"I just," Dean began, and then decided he didn't have to use words.

He showed Sam the little bag with the rings inside it.

"You got a novelty gift, big deal," said Sam.

Dean watched his little brother, who was smart enough to get into Stanford on a full scholarship but could be kind of fucking dumb when it mattered.

Suddenly, his eyes flew open. His boots hit the floor.

"Dean!" he shouted, and Dean was grinning stupidly but waved at Sam to keep it down.

"Oh my God, are you - are you _really_ going to ask him?" asked Sam in a stage whisper.

"Wow, Sam, when did you turn into such a girl?" Dean couldn't resist ribbing him.

Sam bitchfaced at him, as was his wont.

"You're the one proposing," he whispered fiercely.

"That's what the _guy_ does, dumbass," Dean said.

"Are you calling Cas a girl?" 

"Oh, he is definitely _not_ a - okay, no, we're not doing this right now," said Dean, waving his hand. "And besides, no - yeah - look, I haven't decided yet, if I'm going to. I just thought that I should be ready. You know. If."

"Yeah, okay, you're right, I'm sorry," said Sam. He grinned, excited. "So if you do end up asking -do you think he'll say yes?"

Dean pocketed the rings.

"I don't know," he said. "I hope so. But don't flip out just yet okay, I haven't really - "

Dean breathed out.

"I gotta kinda work myself up to this, man, okay," he said.

Sam nodded. His smile was so brilliant it was almost blinding.

"And you _gotta_ tone that down too or Cas'll suspect something," said Dean. "I mean - I'm not even sure yet, okay?"

Sam put his hands up in surrender.

"Okay, understood," he said. "But _now_ can I have Rowena over for dinner?"

"That's taking some time to process, too. Not to mention the whole, uh. _Man-witch_ thing."

"Dean. C'mon. She hasn't had your burgers yet."

Dean paused.

"Huh. That's true, she hasn't," he said. "Well. What the hell. Yeah. Invite her over, Sam. I'll whip up some burgers, maybe head into town to pick up some pie filling."

"Great," said Sam. "Thanks. And Dean - whatever you decide, just know -"

"Yeah, yeah, get outta here, Sasquatch," said Dean.

He pulled out the rings again and looked at them for a couple more minutes and then put them back into his jacket pocket.

***

"Let's try this again," said Dean. "But a little more careful, this time."

Castiel looked at him from over the top of the book he was reading for research in the library.

"Dean?"

"The whole, uh. Soul-thing."

Dean had never seen Cas drop a book so fast before. It was like he didn't even care about the spine or whatever.

Cas put his hand on Dean's shoulder and suddenly they were in Dean's bedroom.

"We could have walked -"

"What do - " Cas took a deep breath. His hands were shaking.

"Okay, so this is the plan," said Dean. " _I'm_ gonna be in control this time. You do as I say, when I say. That okay with you?"

The expression on Castiel's face was indescribable. His blue eyes were filled with a desperate hope and pain that had heat pooling in Dean's gut.

"Now, I don't exactly know everything about this," Dean said. "So if I'm fucking up or doing something dangerous, I need you to tell me. Otherwise, you're going to listen to me and obey."

"Yes, sir."

_Holy fucking shit._

Dean closed his eyes, because _he_ was going to lose it.

A fucking all-powerful angel just demurely lowered his eyes to the ground and called Dean _sir._

"Okay," said Dean, when he trusted himself to breathe again. "Okay. I want you to strip."

Another slight nod, another _yes, sir_ dropped quietly from those perfect lips.

Cas undressed methodically and Dean's mouth went dry.

No matter how many times he had seen this, he'd never get over how fucking gorgeous Castiel was, and now seeing him _submissive -_

Dean knew from experience how hot that could be and with the tables turned -

well, he had found something new to love.

"Hands behind your back," Dean told Cas, and Castiel complied, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Now watch me."

Dean began to strip, slowly. He wasn't exactly making it into a show, but a sensual tease as he pulled off each item of clothing.

Castiel's pupils were dilated, leaving barely a blue ring around them. His mouth was open and he was panting a little.

Dean crawled onto the bed and turned over onto his back, looking up at Cas from beneath hooded eyes. He lazily jacked his cock and watched as the angel shivered, waiting.

"Come here," Dean directed, and Castiel moved nearer to him. "One hand, Cas. Bring it out. No other touching."

Castiel reached out and sunk his hand into Dean's chest, making him howl in pain.

But Dean knew it would change in a few seconds -

_there -_

that fucking _intense_ pleasure coursing through him, and he rode that high.

Castiel was shaking with need, but controlling himself admirably.

"Bring out your wings, Cas," Dean said.

Cas sighed in relief and a loud _crack_ rent the air as those gorgeous black-oilslick wings spread wide above them like a canopy.

 _God,_ Cas was a fucking _mess,_ he was drenched in his own oils and his cock was so hard it was an angry dark color, kicking with spurts of precome as he handled Dean's soul carefully, and brought it out a little to rest against Dean's ribcage again. He stared at it in utter desperation and need.

It was so fucking hot, and weird, and Dean was all the way on board with this whole thing even if it killed him.

He was fascinated by the soul, all gold with glints of green inside it, and watching Castiel eye it hungrily like a man starving. His wings were dripping with that blue-white glow again, coursing in rivulets down his body, over his sharp hipbones, drenching his body in it as he watched Dean, waiting for his next command.

"You're perfect, Cas," murmured Dean. "So obedient. So good for me. You want this? You want me?"

"Yes, sir," Cas just about wailed on a sob. 

_Holy shit. Holy -_

Dean was not going to last very long, especially because he knew what was coming.

"Careful," whispered Dean. "Now, with both hands. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"

"Yes, sir," said Cas, and reached out, cradling Dean's soul in both hands.

The addition made Dean jerk back with the intensity of it all.

"Now get on top of me."

Castiel knelt forward and swung a leg over him, straddling Dean's hips. Dean cried out when Cas's weight sank down on his already-oversensitive cock.

"That's it," whispered Dean. "Good."

And Cas just stared, and the blue-white glow coursed down his arms like lightning, dripping into and onto that golden living thing he held in his hands -

and it began to melt, molten-gold dripping to run together and join with the oil, and Dean was arching up and crying out with it as he came, he and Castiel _together as one,_ a phrase he had never truly understood before -

"Not yet," Dean said, looking up at the wild look of need in Castiel's eyes. "Hold on just a little longer for me, okay?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel replied, as if that was all he knew how to say.

"Can you control yourself?" Dean asked. "Keep the lights on and the ceiling intact? Or are you so fucking desperate for it that you're going to knock out the power again because you can't fucking help it, you need it so bad."

A blush lit Castiel's cheeks pink and Dean fucking _loved_ it.

"I - I can control myself," whispered Castiel. "Sir. I promise. _Please._ "

_Oh, fuck. Castiel **begging** him -_

Dean could feel himself rapidly hardening again, but he knew that this wasn't going to be a one-and-done go-round.

He stared up at Cas, his tongue against his teeth, mouth slightly open.

"Do it," he said. "But be careful. Go _slow._ "

Castiel nodded, frantic, and visibly got control of himself again as he pushed forward, much slower this time, and thrust into the golden-bright heat.

Cas threw his head back and shouted at the ceiling, only the barest hint of angelic whine in his voice, and his wings crackled with electricity as he held himself together.

Dean's eyes rolled back in his head so hard it hurt and he came all over himself, helpless.

When he came down again, Castiel was holding himself still, in exactly the same position as lightning bolts of grace raced back and forth across his wings. Dean watched as the oil leaked profusely onto his soul, fizzing with sparks where it met the bright-gold, and marveled at Castiel's self control.

"You can let yourself go now, sweetheart," murmured Dean, anchoring his hands between Castiel's folded legs and holding on tight.

Castiel's head suddenly snapped down and looked at Dean. 

His eyes had gone bright white with the effort of controlling himself inside the vessel.

"Yes, sir," he said, and there was white light in his mouth too.

He pushed forward on a huge, shuddering thrust. 

Then he completely lost it - Cas thrust forward again, and again, and again, lost to the world, making sounds Dean wasn't certain were altogether human, and -

suddenly, all Dean knew was light.

***

"Dean. Dean, wake up. Please?"

Dean's eyelids were the heaviest thing he'd ever felt.

Blearily, he managed to get them open for around a second before they fell shut again.

He felt the strange fizz and pop of grace in his system, but it apparently wasn't working.

He couldn't bring himself to care.

He'd never felt so content, perfectly happy, like he was drugged.

Everything was _wonderful._

"Dean, please."

He felt something pattering on his cheeks. Was it raining?

He made a huge effort and opened his eyes again. This time it seemed to work better.

He focused on Castiel's beloved face.

"Cas," said Dean, or tried to. All that came out was a choked whisper.

"Dean! Oh, thank goodness," said Castiel, relief sweeping over him in a wave. "Come on, sit up, you have to keep your eyes open."

Dean didn't really want to, but he struggled into a sitting position. He wondered why Cas looked so upset. He thought the sex had been pretty damned good if he said so himself.

"Did you not like it?" Dean asked, after Cas removed his hand from healing his throat and Dean found his voice again.

Castiel's jaw dropped.

"Did I -" 

He blinked.

"Dean, I left my vessel," he said.

Dean blinked right back at him.

"Shouldn't I be, I don't know, uh. Fried?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, eyes wide.

"Okay, maybe stoking the fire wasn't such a great idea," Dean said.

Castiel gave him a puzzled look.

"I can't figure out _why_ you're not dead," he admitted.

"Cas, take the win, okay?" said Dean. 

"I will not! I could have killed you!"

"Yeah, but you didn't," said Dean, finally coming around a little. "Gotta say, that was fuckin' _epic._ "

He looked up into Castiel's worried face and kissed him.

"C'mon, that's the best compliment I ever got," said Dean. "It's _okay,_ Cas. I'm fine. We're good."

Castiel gave him a look.

"Now c'mere and keep me warm," said Dean, and Castiel finally relented, curling around Dean and wrapping him up in his wings.

***

Apparently the dinner was that evening, and Dean couldn't find it in himself to argue, especially because he was in the best mood of his entire life. Sex always put him in a good mood, and good sex twice as much, so right now, he was so fucking ecstatic he was bouncing off the walls like a pinball.

He had just hopped up the stairs from the war room, skipping them entirely, when he saw Rowena in an urgent conversation with Cas near the telescope. She looked angry, she was emphatically pointing at the ground as well as herself.

"Nice seein' you again, Rowena," said Dean, interrupting them.

They both looked up with guilty expressions.

"You bothering my boyfriend?" asked Dean, inwardly rejoicing at his first opportunity to use that word, especially with someone outside their circle. "Cas, is she bothering you?"

"Ah, Dean," said Rowena warmly. "I've missed that toxic masculinity in you. Charming."

"Bite me," said Dean, but it was airy and friendly, because right now Dean was everybody's best friend.

"Your angel and I were just having a discussion," she said. 

"Yeah? What about?"

"Metaphysics, not to put too fine a point on it," said Rowena.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her and then folded his arms.

"Huh," he said. "Sure."

"I hear you'll be cooking this evening," she said, patting his arm. "Splendid. I look forward to it. Samuel?"

She passed by him and went off in search of Sam.

"Hey," said Dean, grabbing Cas and kissing him, just because he could.

Cas glanced in the direction of Rowena's retreating form.

"Aw, don't worry about her, Cas, she's just tryin' to get a rise outta you," said Dean. "I think I do a better job of that."

"Yes, you do," said Cas, hesitant for a moment, and then kissed him back.

"C'mon," said Dean. "You can hang out with me in the kitchen while I make dinner."

And he took Castiel by the hand and led him through the bunker, excited to show Cas that he had talents in other places apart from the bedroom.

He briefly wondered if he should be worried about the look on Castiel's face, but decided it didn't matter and it could probably wait.

After all, there were burgers to be made.


	108. Deadwood - Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this one is notes, for those of you who enjoy the notes. :)

They were driving across the old man's boot of Louisiana when Dean decided he was tired and they checked into a motel.

He'd kept a brave face the entire way from Vegas to here, but he could feel his insides crumbling.

He knew it was stupid, that he still had some time with Sam, and he wanted to focus on it but that was getting harder and harder.

Dean told Sam that he wanted to get laid, but his heart wasn't really in it, and they just went back to the room after an hour at the bar.

So they sat in the motel together. Sam read a book. _Friends_ was on tv again. Just like normal.

Only nothing would be normal for Dean again.

This was his home.

The road, motels, and Sam.

***

Later that night, Dean wept silent tears as he stared into the darkness, his back turned to Sam's bed.

He was briefly startled when he felt a weight on the mattress, and Sam curl up beside him.

He didn't say a word or do anything else, he was just there, a comforting presence, the way Dean had done back when Sam was little and he'd had a nightmare.

Sam's gigantic size and the fact that Dean was a full-grown man himself didn't matter.

Dean fell into a deep sleep and didn't wake until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. _the old man's boot/the old man's belly_ : I don't know if people still say this, but the stack of states from Minnesota to Louisiana following the Mississippi River resemble a man in a big hat and boots. The old man's belly is Missouri (play on words with _stomachache_ \- misery/Missouri, when teaching schoolkids how to remember the states).
> 
> 2\. Dean tells Sam that he has sex a lot. We don't actually see it happen very much. Dean hits on women. Sam gets laid. Regardless, I've met these kind of posturing guys before. They are the _worst_ at sex. You gotta brag about it, you ain't talented, son. Drifters talk. And a couple of guys raised by someone like John Winchester? You think that man told them anything at all about women? Like where the clitoris is, or the importance of foreplay? Yeah, right. Unless they were extremely okay with actually learning, which takes a kind of humility that let's face it, Dean just does not have. Unfortunately, these two guys...would realistically, absolutely _suck_ in bed. Sure, with their looks they'd probably get past the first hurdle. They wouldn't get a second audience. Just because you have sex with several different people doesn't necessarily mean you're good at it. In fact, it often means the opposite, because more than one time means learning.
> 
> 3\. As much as I find the _only one bed_ trope hilarious, especially because of the way it tends to present Dean's attempt at keeping his manly-man shit together and he always does it badly, this was actually something I had to actively learn. 
> 
> I had a couple of non-drifter friends visit me once, out on the West Coast. Now, I had found a motel that was an absolute gem - it had a _swimming pool!_ it was _clean as a whistle! you could smoke in the rooms!_ It even had a fancy reception with clean floors and a couple of vending machines along with an icemaker. This place was _top fucking class_ , and I was so excited to share it. 
> 
> Now, to a drifter, a double bed represents nothing more than two sleeping spaces. So there were two beds in the room and I was already sharing mine. These two non-drifter friends were less than thrilled with having to share the other double and things did not go well. I remember sitting on the outside stairs smoking, wondering what I'd done wrong. Turns out that other people really need another room and preferably an individual bed to each person. 
> 
> Given that I have slept in gutters, in the dip of roadsides, and flat on the bare carpet of an apartment I'd rented for two weeks because there was no mattress yet, this type of accommodation was five-star-awesome to me. Unfortunately, I didn't realize that it was not normal for other people until after the falling out we had over it. Since I was paying for the place, it would never have occurred to me to get two or even three rooms. There were enough bed slots for everybody.
> 
> The reason for this behavior is not only due to budget or money, although of course that's a part of it. It's also safer, and it gives drifters an opportunity to be around other human beings for a while. Socializing isn't always easy for us, given our lifestyles, and as always, there's safety in numbers and comfort in the presence of friends.
> 
> 4\. Dean and Sam, a couple of abused kids, one of whom is a natural drifter and one of whom is really not, were always going to have a breakup of some kind. Drifters who do try for _the apple pie life_ as they call it in the show always go about it in a weird way. Like it's beads on an abacus: _college + marriage + buying a house = now I'll be normal. Right?_
> 
> As you can imagine, this tends to end in disaster. When Dean went to Lisa, I thought: _oh, here he goes, he's doing the math problem thing, this won't end well._ It's a familiar scene, because there's a hell of a lot of pressure on drifters to conform. And Dean didn't go to Lisa out of his own free will - he did it for his brother, who was not a natural drifter, and whose idea of happiness for Dean was really what would have meant happiness for him. 
> 
> 5\. There are tv shows that have long been considered drifter favorites. _Friends_ is one of them, _That 70's Show_ was another. Basically anything about a group of people. Back before we had all this amazing technology and could keep in touch with people, drifters usually carried maybe a photo or two of those they loved, sometimes in a packsack or tucked under the sun visor of the car. Shows like _Friends_ meant that you always had friends you could carry with you, and they made the road a little less lonely. _Supernatural_ was also very popular with drifters and hobos, for obvious reasons, but of course we're much more able to stay in touch with people nowadays.
> 
> By the way - imagine if _Supernatural_ had a finale like _Friends_.


	109. Maverick - Now

The burgers had been a hit, apart from Dean's confusion over Rowena cutting them up with a fork and knife instead of picking them up with her hands like a normal person.

Dean and Cas slept in their nest, and Dean woke alone, just like other mornings because Cas was an early riser and didn't actually need to sleep.

In the kitchen, Dean encountered Cas, who handed Dean a cup of coffee, which he took gladly and sat down at the table. Rowena was also there, dressed in a warm-looking magenta robe, sipping her tea. 

She put a friendly hand on Castiel's elbow.

Dean sat up. He wasn't sure if he was going to have to fight or what.

"Castiel, tweetie-pie," said Rowena, "can you please keep it down in the mornings? I'm hundreds of years old and I need my beauty sleep."

"What? Keep it down? What do you mean?" asked Dean.

Rowena blinked at him.

"Oh, you can't hear it?" she asked. 

"Hear what?"

Cas was looking at just about anything that wasn't Dean.

"Your wee angel here apparently likes to go outside just before dawn."

"Yeah, he got that from Sam. Health nuts, am I right or am I right?"

"Has he told you he goes _running?_ " Rowena covered her mouth with her hand.

Dean looked at Cas. Nope, still not looking at him.

"Sweetheart. No. He goes there to be a part of the dawn chorus! Singing at the _top of his bloody lungs_ about his conquest, telling everyone to stay away, bragging about himself and your, uh, _endowment,_ my _God_ he is noisy!"

"Cas?" Dean ventured.

"Apologies," Castiel muttered. "I didn't realize that you could hear me."

" _Cas?!_ " Dean sputtered.

"I'm a witch, darling," said Rowena, taking a sip. "Of course I can hear you."

_Wait a minute -_

"Can Sam -"

"Oh, dearie me, _no,_ " said Rowena. "This kind of talent takes time. Although I am surprised that you're not one of the special people who can hear angelic song, given your little -"

She wiggled her hand.

" - indiscretion."

"Cas chooses me every day," said Dean stubbornly. "I don't gotta be special destiny or whatever."

"Aw, that's sweet," said Rowena. 

Her eyes flicked downwards.

"Castiel, you lucky boy," she said, and Dean was about to protest when Sam bounded into the room like a gazelle and dropped a kiss on Rowena's cheek before going to the coffeepot.

"Damn, Cas, really?" Dean demanded in a low voice.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I couldn't help it."

Dean tried to look offended, but hid his grin behind his mug of coffee.


	110. Lone Star - Then

Dean sat on the white sand of Fort Zachary Taylor Beach Park and watched his brother splash around in the water.

He smiled. He could do this.

He could do this for his brother.

And it was getting easier - the vise that had clamped down around his heart had eased somewhat.

It was Spring Break and Sam was having the time of his life. The kid was basically drowning in girls.

Dean made a half-hearted pass at a few of them, but no luck.

He figured he'd be earning some stellar cash around here later when the guys were too drunk to know better and looking for the kind of excitement they couldn't get at home.

Dean watched his brother flirt with girls and have fun at the beach, and he tried to be happy for him.

***

Eventually, Dean's spirits lifted.

He started to see the color in the world again, and realized that wallowing meant that he'd miss this last chance to be alone with Sam and have fun.

Dean wanted Sam to look back fondly on this time in his life, and he couldn't do that if all Dean did was mope around.

"C'mon, Sam," he said, dragging his kid brother by the arm, "I want you to try something."

"It better not be gross," said Sam.

"No, no, trust me on this one," said Dean.

They found themselves in a fairly nice restaurant, all white wood and tasteful decoration.

"Kind of upscale from our usual, isn't it?" Sam ventured.

"I came here a long time ago," said Dean, emitting the _with Dad_ part of the sentence, "and I swear they have _the best_ cajun chicken alfredo in the universe."

"I've never had that."

"What, at all?" asked Dean, surprised. "Well, then, you're in for a treat."

And Dean watched Sam experience one of his favorite foods at one of the best restaurants in the Keys, saw the delight in his eyes, and even listened to him yammer on about something or other with law stuff that Dean didn't quite catch.

But none of that mattered, because it was _this_ that Dean would've been missing out on, if he hadn't gotten his head out of his ass and decided that he was going to make this last summer the best for the both of them.

***

After they finished dinner, they walked down to a beachside bar where they had a wide variety of crushed ice cocktails Dean had never even heard of, until literally _everything_ seemed hilarious, and they were sitting in the sand with their bare feet in the water. Sam ordered a blue cheeseburger, promptly ran off to the bathroom to upchuck, and then returned all smiles with yet another drink.

"You sauced or somethin', buddy?" Dean asked.

"Nah, don't think so," Sam said. "Guess blue cheese doesn't agree with me."

"Damn, that's rough," said Dean. "Whaddaya got there?"

"Ultimate Brownie Mudslide," Sam said. "I think it has more calories than God."

Dean lost his shit at that, and laughed his fool head off.

"All right, my turn," he said, and went up to the bar to ask for something interesting.

The bartender handed him a Tropical Lifesaver, which tasted exactly like its name. He told Dean that it was a speciality of the Green Parrot Bar, a favorite of Hemingway's, who would get smashed there and then walk back to his house, which he had purportedly bought next to the lighthouse so that he could always find his way home.

"What'll they think of next?" said Dean, plopping down on the sand beside his brother. "This is the pinnacle of human achievement, right here."

Sam gave him a lopsided grin.

"Thanks, Dean," he said, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

"Oh, are we at your cuddly drunk stage of the evening?" asked Dean.

"I'm serious," said Sam. "You're the best brother a guy could ask for. Serious...ly."

They both cracked up again, and clinked their cocktails together, and talked as March turned to April and the bright stars were reflected on the still, calm sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hedonism, thy name is Key West.
> 
> Blue cheese reactions are no joke, something people tend to take for granted but it's out there.
> 
> Cajun chicken alfredo is one of the incredible fusion cuisine dishes of the South.
> 
> Tropical Lifesavers are amazing, as are Ultimate Brownie Mudslides.
> 
> Hemingway was a weird man.


	111. Seraphim Falls - Now

Cas had taken to burbling cheerfully and shaking his wings with his eyes closed when he was allowed to wrap his wings around Dean.

Dean thought it was so damned cute.

He was a man whose repression had folded over and over again, pressed together like the steel of a samurai sword.

But here, in Cas's arms, in Cas's wings, he was just _Dean,_ for the first time in his life, and he found that all the things he thought insurmountable before were so easy when looking into those bright blue eyes shaded by great black wings.

In the low lamplight of his room, Dean told Cas things he'd never told anyone. Sad things, things that made him laugh, the things he'd noticed before - how beautiful the woods were in spring just after snowmelt, the way mirages shimmered on the highway on a hot day while he was driving the Impala.

Memories, of love, and fear, and beauty, and terror.

All the while, Castiel just held his hands and listened, and cherished him.

Here, in their secret nest, Dean could really be himself for the first time.

"Last time we were together, you gave me such a beautiful gift," Castiel had said. "This time, I would like to return the favor."

They used the nest for sleeping and talking, and the bed for sex.

Dean found himself buried deep inside Cas, as Castiel's hand laid cool against his forehead and images of American landscapes flashed in front of his eyes -

_the Painted Desert - the Arches - the sequoias - Seven Mile Bridge - the Pictured Rocks -_

Dean came so hard he saw stars, and joked afterward that it gave a new meaning to _lying on your back and thinking of England._

"I know we've done a lot of deeply weird stuff," he told Cas after this particular earth-shattering session, "but that was weird even by those standards. You think I got an America fetish or something?"

Cas just smiled, and stroked his hair.

"Just being with a human is already as deeply weird as things get for angels," said Cas. "Everything else pales in comparison to that, so none of it seems all that weird to me."

Dean sat up a little at that.

"Wow, really?" he asked, shaking his head. "Those angels sure are judgmental fucks, huh."

Castiel chuckled deep in his throat, and wrapped Dean in his wings.

***

Rowena had taken to visiting the bunker more frequently.

One morning, she dropped Cas a wink and said:

"The _details,_ my dear! My oh my."

"Shut up," said Dean, but there was no heat behind it, as he went for the coffee.

"Warming to me, are we?" asked Rowena as she sipped her tea.

Dean didn't say a thing, but when he turned around, she and Cas were having another one of those staring contests again.

They looked like they were having some kind of argument.

"Okay, okay, break it up," said Dean, hooking Cas's pinky with his own and gently pulling him out of the room and down the hallway. 

He even let Cas kiss him up against the wall before he'd had his first sip of coffee.

It took him a while to take a drink because he was grinning like an idiot.

He couldn't seem to stop smiling, these days.

***

Sam happened to come through the library while Dean was on the laptop. 

He tried to close the lid and realized that reaction was going to invite more questions than it avoided.

"Dean, if it's porn you're hiding, honestly I don't care," said Sam.

Dean glared at his brother.

"If you could understand angel song," he said, shaking his head, "you would not make assumptions, Sammy."

Sam winced.

"Yeah, Rowena told me," he said. "Then what are you hiding?"

"None of your damn business."

"Dean, you know what happens when we keep things from each other."

Dean huffed a long-suffering sigh.

"Fine," he said, opened the laptop, and spun it around.

Sam peered at the screen.

"MLS listings," he read out. "Three-bedroom house, two bathrooms, half-acre of - "

Sam's gaze crawled up from the computer and found Dean.

"Are you looking for a _house_?"

Dean shrugged. He could feel a little blush coming on, but he soldiered onwards.

_Change. We're changing, for the better, and that means sharing with Sam, too._

"See, I thought," Dean said, "maybe - okay. Don't get me wrong, I don't exactly hate this place - believe me, I'm fuckin' _thrilled_ \- I mean, we found a free place to live, a batcave, whatever. But Sam."

Dean looked around himself.

"The place is _underground_ ," he said. "There are _no freakin' windows._ I still have nightmares about crawling outta my own grave - which, by the way, thanks for nothin' there, Cas, coulda dropped me off at the closest rest stop or somethin', jeez. Anyway."

Dean turned the computer back around and looked at the website again.

"We ain't never _chosen_ somethin' of our own, you get me?" he asked. "A place _we_ wanted, a place - a life where we can live on the road _or_ stay at the house. Living here has always kinda felt like an obligation, know what I mean? We're fuckin' _surrounded_ by reminders of hunting and lore. Besides, uh..."

Dean grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Cas, you know, he's got a lotta these bird traits," said Dean. "And yeah, some birds live in underground burrows, but those are like, penguins and stuff. I figured maybe - you know how some birds like to sit up on high perches and sing? Or like how eagles have eyries? They like high places."

"So you're saying you want a place that's tall and open, so Cas can...perch?" asked Sam. 

Dean shot a glance at him, expecting Sam to be laughing, but he actually looked kind of...touched.

"Well, yeah," said Dean, warming to it. "But also, a place with big windows and airy interiors and high ceilings, with a lot of land all around it so we can see trouble if it's comin'. Havin' a bunker's all well an' good, man, but we're also kinda sittin' ducks here, and it's just as hard to get out of as it is to get into."

"Huh," said Sam. "You know, I could get on board with that, I miss daylight down here."

"Right? I ain't no vampire. We need some of that vitamin D shit, Sam, we are not exactly the poster boys for mental health in the first place."

Now Sam was just staring at him.

"What?" asked Dean.

"It's just that I never thought I'd see you like this," said Sam.

"The way I figure it is this: we don't gotta live our lives in any particular way, right? I can still be a drifter, I can be in love with an angel, my brother can be a witch. I want a place where I can come an' go, an' not feel _obligated,_ an' not feel like the choice is between _drifter_ and _stationary life._ Making a life that _we choose._ Free will, right? I think the mistake we made before was that all our decisions were based on obligation, on what society or the world thinks is right, or thinks is happiness. It's not an all or nothing binary decision, Sam, and that's where we went wrong before - thinking it's either gotta be apple pie or the road. But it can be _both_. We can build our own lives, make our own choices, figure out what happiness means to us. But the important thing is, _we decide._ "

Sam nodded.

He kicked back, put his feet up on the table, and spun Dean's laptop around to click through the photos of the house.

"Damn straight," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everybody <3


	112. Cowboys and Aliens - Then

"Dean."

"Trace. What, no _sad white man_ this time?"

"Not this time."

"Somethin' wrong?"

"Jayfeather's dead."

The silence that followed her words was filled with the joyous sound of spring breakers and the splash of the sea.

Tracy's voice sounded dead.

"I'm so sorry, Trace."

"Did you ever go to see him?"

"Yeah. We did. Then my dad showed up."

There was another long silence, in which neither of them said what they both were thinking:

_did John Winchester kill him?_

Dean had killed a human man himself, after all.

"Maybe it's for the best that we don't talk for a while, Trace," said Dean, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears.

_How is it that you keep taking things from me even when you're not around?_

"Yeah," she said. "Listen, Dean. There's gotta be another way, okay? You don't - you don't have to live like -"

"Don't I?" Dean demanded. "Look what just happened, Trace! People who know us wind up dead. And I don't want that to happen to you or Sol, so -"

"Yeah, yeah, stay outta your way, I get it," she said sadly. "Just - promise me you'll get out one day, all right? And when you do, then you'll come see me."

Dean sighed, and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

"I just don't know if I can make that promise, Trace," he said.

"You can and you will," she said sternly. "Dean, I know what you want, and that's to be on a permanent road trip with your brother. That doesn't mean you gotta live and die bloody, and I don't think you want that either. Am I wrong?"

Dean looked out at Sam having the time of his life in the water.

"No," he barely choked out. "No, you're not. I just - want Sam to have a normal life."

"And you deserve that too," said Tracy. "Whatever that means to you. And if that means you gotta lose my number for a while, hell, forever, then that's fine. But come on, Dean. You mean more to me than that, you mean more to Sam than that. You're gonna have to wake up one day and realize that you deserve happiness, too."

"I honestly don't even know what that looks like for me," Dean confessed quietly.

"Then go find out," said Tracy. "Promise me."

"Fine. I promise."

"Then lose the damned phone. I'm proud of you for buying it, and gettin' in touch with me, but it's too dangerous now."

"Do you think we should go up and investigate what killed him?"

"Nah, there's another hunter on it," said Tracy.

Then she said, in a scarily even voice:

"Besides, are you sure that you'd like what you found?"

Dean swallowed, because he didn't know.

He couldn't be _sure_ , and he nodded although she couldn't see him.

"I get your point," he said. 

"We better end here," said Tracy. "The call's gonna run out the minutes on the card any second now."

"Okay," said Dean. "You take care of yourself and Sol, okay?"

"Will do. You too."

"Talk to you later, Trace."

"Bye, Dean."

Dean kept the phone to his ear after he heard the click, and listened to the dead air until the string of beeps told him there was nobody there anymore.

He snapped the phone shut and tossed it into a nearby garbage can, then went to rejoin Sam on the beach.

Dean never told his brother about it.


	113. Icarus - Now

Watching Western movies had become something of a nightly ritual.

Dean chose one and they'd watch it, falling asleep in front of the television.

One night, as the month turned to April, Cas said:

"Dean, I love that you have shared so much with me, of yourself and the things that you love. I'd like to share things with you, too. My favorite stories. If you like."

"'A 'course, Cas," said Dean, kissing his knuckles. "I want to know everything about you, too."

Cas had smiled and said:

"Now that would take a very long time."

And then he told Dean the story of Icarus.

"It was not pride, nor ambition, that led to his downfall," Castiel told Dean. "He had fallen in love with the sun, and in trying to approach it, lost his wings and fell."

"Sounds like a story you could identify with," said Dean.

"I wish I could be more for you, Dean," said Castiel. "Less tarnished. Holy."

Dean drew Castiel into his arms and kissed him gently.

"Cas," he murmured against Cas's lips. "Castiel."

He sighed, and closed his eyes.

"To me, you will always be holy."

***

" _Icarus, don't fly too close to the golden sun in that boy's chest. You'll lose those pretty wings, fluttering against that light._ "

" _When I want your opinion, witch, I'll give it to you._ "

" _Mmhmm. My son was right, you **are** a flirt._"

Dean rounded the corner to the kitchen, finding Rowena and Cas staring at each other. 

_Huh. Guess I showed up at just the right time._

"Okay, knock it off," said Dean. "Stop fighting, you two."

Cas looked at Dean in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

" _And_ flirting," said Dean. "I'm putting my foot down."

Rowena's grin went up a notch.

"Oh, this sounds like a conversation I don't need to be around for," she said. "And Dean, be a dear and get Castiel to quiet down in the mornings. Maybe throw a sheet over his cage or something, I don't know. He's like a bloody parrot with all that squawking."

Dean shot Cas a questioning look.

His expression was a strange mix of embarrassed and proud.

"Been awfully quiet around here otherwise, wouldn't you say?" Rowena asked sweetly.

Dean hadn't really thought about it, but it was true that things had been very quiet of late. 

The entire year, really, apart from the major case they were working.

Otherwise, crickets.

And then Rowena said, clear as day -

" _Castiel. If you don't tell them, I will._ "

Dean was looking right at her, and she never opened her mouth once.

She patted his chest and left the kitchen.

"Tell us what, Cas?" Dean asked, arms folded across his chest.

Sam had just come into the kitchen and was puttering around looking for whatever crazy breakfast food suited him this morning, probably muesli or something equally as foreign and horrifying.

He stopped and turned around.

"Yeah, Cas," said Sam. "Tell us what?"


	114. Alexander and Hephaestion - Then

"God, you're so fucking pretty," moaned the man above him as he came down Dean's throat.

Dean glared at him, swallowed, and pulled off him with a pop.

"Don't fuckin' call me that," said Dean.

"Why not, sweetheart?" asked the man, brushing a thumb over his lips. "You're pretty, like a girl. With those dick-sucking lips, shit."

He was _really_ starting to hate being called _pretty._

Why did everyone treat him like that? Dean had started to hate seeing himself in the mirror, his feminine features, all those things guys kept complimenting him about, he hated them all.

Dean resolved to throw himself entirely into looking and acting more masculine in the future.

"Pay up, asshole," Dean said.

He'd expected the guy to flip out, maybe rough him up a little. 

But this was Key West. People tended toward the openminded here.

"Sure thing, honey," said the guy, and handed him a stack of twenties.

Dean looked up. 

"This is more than we agreed," he said.

The guy got down onto Dean's level, on his knees, and looked Dean in the eye.

"Look, kid, you don't really need advice from a john, okay," said the guy. "But I'm gonna give you some anyway."

The guy was much older, and had bright blue eyes that went soft, his crow's feet more pronounced when he smiled.

"I figure you don't get a hell of a lot of kindness given to you," he told Dean. "And I don't have to tell you that this is some dangerous shit you're pulling. Not everywhere is like Key West and not everyone is going to be nice."

"I kinda prefer it when they aren't," Dean said, because it was the truth.

The guy just gave him a sad look.

"You're worth more than this," the guy told him. "There are other, better ways to make money. There's another life out there for you, if you want it."

"Big words comin' from a dude who just paid for a blowjob in a bar bathroom," Dean said, because this attention and kindness was making him extremely uncomfortable.

But the guy just laughed.

"You got me there," he said. "But I'm on the wrong side of forty. Set in my ways. I know who I am. But you - you've got a whole life ahead of you. Don't waste it."

"Thanks, I guess," said Dean.

"Take the money and do something nice _for yourself_ with it," said the guy. "And I don't wanna see you in here again, at least not doin' this, you got it?"

"How're you gonna stop me?"

"Kid," said the guy. "I own this bar."

Dean gaped at him. The guy smiled.

"Welcome to Key West," he said. "This place makes strange bedfellows, to say the least. But you're welcome in here as a customer."

The guy winked at him.

"Now get the hell outta here," he said.

Dean pocketed the cash, and scrambled out the door as the guy gave him a little wave goodbye.

***

"It's weird, this place."

Sam was covered in sand as he walked back into their little shared motel room, drinking out of a coconut.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, from where he was reading a book on the bed.

"Yeah," said Sam, sitting down on a chair. "It's kinda like life on the road, you know? Different social norms. I didn't realize there was anyplace like this in America at all. Thought this level of acceptance of sexuality and everything - that was something for the future. But I've seen gay men kiss openly on the streets here. I've seen more naked women than I thought possible, and that's just because they decided to change their clothes, so they do it out in the street."

"There's a reason people call this place paradise, Sammy," said Dean. "All the naked ladies."

He conveniently sidestepped anything that had to do with men.

"Yeah, but I wonder why?" Sam persisted. "Like, why here, of all places? It's just a line of strip joints and bars, mostly."

Dean looked up from his book and shrugged.

"Maybe because it's the furthest away from the main continent?" Dean said. "It's so far away that nobody's keeping an eye on it to keep people in line."

"Well, I like it," Sam announced.

"So do I," said Dean. "It's seedy and weird. People are all about the laid-back life here."

"So," said Sam, and Dean saw what he was gearing up for, "can we stay? For a little while?"

Dean smiled.

"Yeah, sure," he said. "Let's stay."

Sam had the look of a man who had expected resistance, met none, and fell over.

"Are you - what? Are you serious?" he asked.

"Yeah, Sam," said Dean, thinking of what that guy had told him. "Let's stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Key West remains a firm favorite, although it is far too expensive these days for someone like me. 
> 
> Back then, however - it was the first time I'd seen a far more open and friendly society, acceptance of LGBT people, a more freewheeling kind of lifestyle than I'd ever experienced before.


	115. Achilles and Patroclus - Now

"Our time together has imbued Dean with some angelic qualities."

Sam and Dean, who had been expecting something else entirely, took this in with all the grace of a slow-motion car crash.

"You what?" said Dean, just as Sam blinked and said "Huh?"

"You may find angelic...manifestations will happen to you," Cas informed Dean. "But do not be alarmed, they will fade in time. I'm sorry, Dean, I should have told you sooner."

Dean stared at Cas, into those serene blue eyes that gazed back at him with frank sincerity.

Sam snorted.

"Okay, I guess I'll leave you guys to it," said Sam, hurrying over to the coffee maker and pouring himself a mug before slinking out in order to give the Ballet of Dean and Cas a miss.

After Sam was gone, Dean had finished thinking.

He grinned.

"Kinky," he said.

***

Cas was deep inside him, fucking into him in slow, certain thrusts.

His long fingers fed Dean his grace, hooked into his mouth, flattening on his tongue.

Just like in his fantasy, he had smaller hawk's wings, and Castiel's much larger wings overlaid them.

"I saw your fantasy of this," Castiel was whispering into his ear, "I could barely even think around you, Dean, your desires are so loud. But you're mine now, aren't you? No human male or female could ever make you feel this way, this _good._ Tell me, Dean."

"Yours, Cas," Dean whispered in total surrender, lit up in places he didn't know he had, and in places he knew he didn't have before - like the wings. "God, yes, yours, always."

Dean thought back briefly to that awful day where he'd beaten Cas, and how every punch he landed, he'd wanted -

_to slide firm and hard, deep inside Castiel, or Cas deep inside him, it didn't matter, but that could never be -_

and with every time his fist had connected, fury and lust built within him like a pyre, and denied what he really wanted, he couldn't stop, he couldn't stop -

He'd never known it could be like this, so fucking perfect, so fucking _good_ , miles beyond anything he'd ever imagined it could be -

not because Cas was a dude, or even because Cas was an angel -

but because Cas was _Cas._

"Shit, I'm gonna - I think - it's _too_ good it's too hot oh fuckfuckfuck _fuck **fuck** \- _"

"Not yet, little mate," whispered Castiel in his ear, and wrapped a hand around his cock, suddenly staving off his approaching orgasm.

" _Cas!_ " Dean wept, his wings flapping a little as Castiel's pinned them down more firmly.

"Shh, don't worry, my love, it will be wonderful," Cas said, continuing that maddening pace, that slick, slow slide into Dean. 

"Cas, I need, I need - "

"I know what you need, Dean," Castiel said, and kept fucking him, as if he wanted to lay a claim on him, brand him both inside and out, _Property of Castiel._

Then Cas buried his fingers in Dean's feathers and _pulled._

Dean _screamed_ and came hard over the blankets beneath him on a pitiful whine.

"Yes, there," said Castiel, his back arching on a final thrust and slamming Dean down on him hard, grinding against Dean on the last few thrusts to emphasize his claim.

"Possessive bastard," Dean sighed as he collapsed onto his side, on the bed.

"With you?" Castiel asked, still holding Dean tight even as the wings faded away. "Of course."

***

Dean snapped awake.

He glanced at his watch sitting on the bedside table. It was 5:30 AM.

Loud, obnoxious birdsong filled the air. 

As he listened, he recognized words in there, but they were in some foreign language he couldn't understand.

"Aw, _man_ ," he complained, burying his head underneath the pillows.

There were some angelic abilities he found he could do without.

***

All the weird, hot sex in the world unfortunately could not keep Dean's mind from pulling at the thread.

He trusted Cas. To the ends of the earth.

He would die for him.

He was deeply in love with him.

Cas had ruined him for any other lover.

But the thing about Dean was...

well.

He was the 'dumb' brother, but it was really all an act.

Where Sam had to study, Dean had perfect recall. 

He remembered the books he'd read as if he'd photographed them with his mind.

He could rebuild the Impala. He'd taught himself how, after that time when Sam got sick.

He could build things with his hands.

Sam had rightly called him a genius once.

That was the thing -

these days, _nerd_ meant a very specific list of things, none of which interested him whatsoever.

TV shows, movies, superheroes - 

he figured out what Sam liked, and learned about those things too.

But he would not have argued that he was a nerd in the old definition:

sharp as a fucking tack,

brilliant and mechanically-minded,

and smart enough to play dumb when it counted.

Unfortunately -

unfortunately -

Dean knew that this was one of the reasons he'd fallen for Castiel.

Because Cas was crafty.

Manipulative.

Yes, a warrior, but anybody can be a grunt.

Cas was hot partly because he was so fucking smart.

Strategy, tactics -

_that's_ what really made Cas sexy.

The combination of those things, along with the brute strength.

Because like calls to like.

And just like Dean -

Cas knew the value of playing dumb.

_Never underestimate a man's power to underestimate a woman,_ echoed in Dean's head, and Donna was someone he might have considered if Cas hadn't crash-landed into his life and changed everything.

He remembered Narcisse, and Michel, and Grover, their magic tricks, and what he'd learned about misdirection.

_Clever. Smart. Manipulative. Playing dumb._

_Sleight of hand. Distraction._

_Make 'em look at your other hand while you palm the quarter in the other._

Dean walked to the library like a man in a dream.

_It's Cas. You can trust him._

_It's **Cas.**_

But there had been enough times when that hadn't mattered, and Dean just couldn't resist pulling the thread.

Cas was seated with his back to Dean in the library, reading from a stack of books.

Dean relaxed a little. 

Seemed harmless.

Cas hadn't noticed he was there yet, and Dean didn't say anything to alert him to his presence.

Suddenly, the angel raised his head.

Dean drew back into the shadows.

Castiel looked over his right shoulder.

His eyes rolled over black.


	116. Edmond Dantes and Mercedes - Then

Dean sat at the bar, nursing a beer.

There was someone sitting beside him, but he hadn't been able to suss out whether the person was male or female.

"Hey," said the person. "I'm Cy."

"Dean," said Dean. "This is probably - but, are you a guy or a girl?"

Dean thought he was going to get cussed out.

Instead, Cy threw - their? - head back and laughed.

"Sometimes both," said Cy. "Sometimes neither. But you can call me _she._ "

Dean had never met anyone quite like Cy before.

"So what do you do?" asked Cy.

"I'm kind of a drifter," said Dean.

"No shit? Me too!" Cy said.

"Really? I've never seen anyone like you before," said Dean.

"You're pretty sheltered for a drifter," said Cy. "You got this whole, I don't know. Like somebody's given you a manual on how to be a dude and you're afraid if you don't follow it, you're gonna be struck by lightning."

Dean fiddled with the label on his beer bottle, feeling exposed.

"Yeah, I guess," he said.

"You busy tonight, Dean?" asked Cy.

Dean met her eyes. 

His own eyes widened, as he saw the question there.

He shook his head, feeling oddly virginal and inexperienced, not knowing what was about to happen to him.

"You wanna?" Cy asked softly.

Dean just nodded.

"Then come on."

***

Dean had left a note underneath the motel room door, so that Sam wouldn't be worried if he returned to find the room empty.

Sam himself probably had other plans, since he wasn't there.

Then, Dean followed Cy to where she was staying, and the door closed behind him.

***

Dean stared up in awe as Cy rode him.

She had a chest like a man, twin scars where he assumed her breasts had been once. She had strong abs and was intensely masculine. 

Yet she didn't seem to mind having sex with him either.

Dean was more than in love, he was in total worship. He'd never known anyone like this existed and wondered what else he'd missed, following his Dad around and hanging on everything he'd ever said.

His hips stuttered, his mouth opened on a silent moan as he stared up at her and came deep inside her.

She smiled, and told him that he was handsome, and so good, and then kissed him and held him the rest of the night.

***

A week later, Dean went to a midnight showing of _Rocky Horror_ with Cy.

He was infatuated. His every waking thought was about her, enough that Sam was a little weirded out by his brother acting like a protagonist in a romance movie.

But Dean just didn't care. His entire world had been changed, his mind blown by the experience.

_Another drifter, just like him._

And so unique, and different -

he couldn't help himself, he was absolutely gone on her.

_Rocky Horror_ was yet another eye-opener for him.

He'd never seen so many different kinds of people in one place.

Key West was already so open-minded, but here, it seemed like a gathering place of every kind of person - gay men, crossdressers, lesbians.

Dean didn't have the vocabulary to really describe what he was seeing. But he loved every second of it anyway.

The cameraderie, the solidarity, the _freedom_ of it all.

He laughed, and yelled the lines, and threw the rice, and for the first time in his life, felt a sense of community, of togetherness, of _belonging._

That night, while he and Cy were making love, Dean mouthed _I love you_ but couldn't find it in himself to voice it.

***

A few days later, Cy left the island.

Dean knew this was going to happen. After all, he was a drifter himself.

She didn't leave a number, or any indication they would meet again.

Just like Dean had done to countless girls and some guys across the continental US.

But this was the first time he really knew how it felt to be _left._

He'd been inconsolable.

One night, he woke to find that Sam had left him a grilled cheese sandwich next to the bed.

He'd promised Cy that he'd take his brother to see _Rocky Horror,_ but his heart was no longer in it.

The days passed by, and Dean was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember, during this time period, that we didn't really have the language for trans, nonbinary, genderfluid. Learning these words was very exciting for me because I finally had descriptors for people I had met along the way in those years. I remember asking a lesbian friend about it, and she said 'google it' which I did eagerly, but now I wonder if that snippy kind of reaction puts people off sometimes. I've seen some truly horrible treatment of people who are innocently curious and have questions but others dogpile on them and this seems to be encouraged. I personally feel that this is no way to go about helping the movement and we ought to be better than high school bullies about everything. Openness, acceptance, and understanding of difference has always been the hallmark of the LGBTQ+ community and I hate to see people using it as a weapon.
> 
> Dean's utter surprise here was something common in those days, especially as we saw trans women all the time, although they were mostly called 'drag queens' even if they didn't perform. 'Transsexual' was usually thought to apply only to those born as men and their sex changes. Trans men were not talked about and in fact I did not find out they existed until well into adulthood. I tried to write this in the tone of the time, since it's from Dean's perspective back then. I also wanted to illustrate that drifters are often sideswiped when they get left just like they tend to leave others. It's an unfortunate thing, the human heart.
> 
> _Rocky Horror Picture Show_ gets a lot of stick these days. The thing people don't seem to realize is that it's always been a terrible movie. Everyone knows that, and that's completely beside the point. In the times before the Internet, those midnight showings were one of the only guaranteed-safe-places for the LGBTQ+ community, and they existed in every major city at the time. You didn't go to _Rocky Horror_ for the movie, you went for the solidarity, the community, the assurance of a fun night surrounded by likeminded people, the guarantee that hitting on someone wouldn't get you hurt. The atmosphere of those showings was always one of love, and it frustrates me to read the way people down on it all the time. Of course the film is awful, but it also had representation and challenging gender/sexual norms that wasn't very common at the time - and let's be real, we're all here reading/writing these Destiel stories because nothing much has changed in representation-land.


	117. Orpheus and Eurydice - Now

" _Get out of him, you sick son of a bitch!_ "

Dean heard his own voice, wild and broken, as if from a long way off.

All he could see, his mind was filled with -

_Cas, burning on the ceiling -_

Dean's nose filled with the sweet scent of crackling, burning flesh.

He'd gone off bacon for years as a child.

He'd gone completely mute.

Now, in his utter terror as those dark walls closed in around him filled with that _horrible smell -_

he was a grown man, he was hallucinating, he had a _voice now,_ he could _shout -_

" _Sam!_ " Dean screamed at the top of his lungs.

Sam came stumbling into the room moments later, gun out and ready.

"Dean," said Castiel's voice calmly, his hands in the air. "I'm not a demon."

"Like hell you aren't!" Dean yelled, trying to concentrate with the sound of crackling fire and that awful smell. "I _saw your eyes,_ asshole!"

Cas closed his eyes and sighed.

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said.

"Yeah, well now that we're seeing it, what is it?" Dean demanded.

"Demons are not the only creatures with black eyes, Dean," Cas said.

Dean nodded to Sam, who went through the entire ritual, exorcism, cut with a silver knife, and everything else usual.

Then it dawned on Dean:

_the black-eyed kids._

_Manifestations of memory._

"This somethin' to do with those kids?" asked Dean.

"I really can't tell you," said Cas.

Dean's brows knit together.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded.

He couldn't get away from that smell.

"Believe me, I would tell you if I could," said Cas. "But it's imperative that you don't know."

"Screw that, Cas!" Dean said. "I thought we were past this! Hiding, sneakin' around, betrayal."

Castiel held his gaze.

"If you think, even for a _moment,_ that I would jeopardize what we have -"

"Not like I ain't got _years_ of freakin' history tellin' me otherwise, Cas!" Dean said.

_Cas, in a ring of holy fire._

_Dean, like Lot's wife, unable to resist looking back one last time._

"Dean, _I can't_ ," Cas said. "Why can't you just trust me?"

"Because the last time you asked me that, you swallowed a million souls and I had to watch you walk into a river!" Dean yelled. "If you can't come clean with me right the fuck now, Cas, then what the hell are we doing?"

Castiel looked at the floor.

Then he looked up at Dean.

"I'll leave," he said quietly.

Dean rocked back on his heels like Cas had actually hit him.

" _Leave?_ " he repeated, like he didn't know the word, and like everything had suddenly yawed completely out of his control. "What are you - what?"

"You don't trust me," said Castiel. "And given our history, I understand. But I can't stay here, I can't be around you, because this is _important_ and I might - I might crack."

"Cas, come on," Dean pleaded. "Baby. Please. No."

He looped his arms around Castiel's neck, but the angel had gone still as a statue, no give in him at all.

"It's okay," said Dean, not caring that tears were coming now, a lot more than the single one he'd devoted himself to for years, and Sam was watching, but for once in his life Dean didn't care. "Baby. I'm sorry. Stay. Stay with me."

Castiel pressed his forehead to Dean's, and then resolutely removed his wrists from around his neck.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," said Castiel, and vanished.

Dean stood there, lost, as those walls slammed shut one after the other in his head, his heart, his soul.

He gave his brother a despairing look, but Sam couldn't help him now.

That smell, sickly-sweet, lingered.

***

Dean dumped the contents of the nest in the room they had arbitrarily assigned to Castiel.

He went back to his own room and curled up on the bed.

The blankets were thin and cold. He missed the warm, heavy weight of feathers.

He hated himself.

He hated that he'd been stupid enough to open up, to be really vulnerable for the first time in his life, with Cas, who he thought he could trust.

_You can't trust anybody. Not in this life._

He thought of the sex, of his trust, his openness, and he felt sick, sick that he enjoyed it so much, it was inhuman, how could he -

Curled in on himself, Dean hated everything that he was, everything he had become.

He was furious with himself.

He was so fucking humiliated, and hurt. He hated himself for his weakness, for wanting to be held so badly that he'd completely lost himself in what he had with Castiel.

After a while, the tears stopped coming.

The walls were up again, as if they'd never come down.


	118. Desdemona and Othello - Then

Dean found that his heavy heart grew lighter.

In the sun and the wind and the sunset of Mallory Square, he grew to appreciate the fact that he'd known Cy, that he'd had the opportunity to love such a unique individual.

And sitting with Sam on the top deck of the Schooner Wharf, eating his weight in clam chowder and pina coladas, he watched the tall ships come into the harbor with his little brother.

"How long are you thinkin' of stayin' here, Sam?" asked Dean. "Because we're gonna have to either pick up some honest work or leave soon to find some money. Place may be beautiful but it sure ain't cheap."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," said Sam. "And honestly, I've had a lot of fun. Thanks for this, I'm really glad we did it."

"I'm sensing there's a _but_ there," Dean said, sucking on his straw.

"But," said Sam, grinning quick, the bright white flash of his teeth contrasting his tan as the sun dipped below the horizon, "this was only ever going to be a vacation, you know?"

"Sure," said Dean. "But sun, sand, sex, girls - what's gotta be wrong with that?"

Dean elbowed his brother.

"Don't tell me you ain't gotten laid, Sam," he said. "Place like this, _crawling_ with - "

"You're always at your best when you're comparing people to cockroaches," Sam said, rolling his eyes. "And I've had some fun, yeah. But I wanted to, you know. Road trip with my big brother. If this is going to be the last one."

And just like that, Dean could feel that constriction around his heart.

_The last one._

Although he'd gotten over the worst of losing Cy, it just felt like a reopened wound, thinking of the reality that was September.

"You got it," said Dean. "Whatever you want. Wherever you wanna go. We'll go. You want to blow this popsicle stand, I'm in. So. Where next, boss?"

Sam stared out at the water for a while.

"Craters of the Moon," he said.

Dean gave him a strange look.

"You want to go to Craters of the Moon," said Dean.

"Yeah," said Sam. "Because you love it."

"Aw, Sammy, I'm touched," said Dean. 

"Shut up."

"When do you wanna go? We got, what? Another week or so of April."

"Let's finish out the month at the motel. We paid for it anyway."

"Sure thing, Sasquatch."

The night was warm, the stars were bright, and the rock n'roll music from the live band at the bar echoed out across the waves.


	119. Pygmalion and Galatea - Now

_Hey you_

_Out there on your own, sitting naked by the phone_

_Would you touch me?_

Four days had passed, and Castiel had not reappeared.

Pink Floyd played softly through Dean's headphones as he lay curled up in bed. 

He didn't want to think about Cas.

He couldn't stop thinking about Cas.

 _An angel loved me once,_ he thought sadly.

 _Maybe he was telling the truth,_ said some little voice of hope in his heart, which Dean viciously squashed every time it tried to speak.

There was a knock on the door.

Dean didn't even have the strength to tell whoever it was to go away.

He just stayed there, listless, and let things happen around him.

"It's me," said Sam unnecessarily, given his giant stature shadowing the doorway as he opened it. "Can I come in?"

_Hey you_

_out there on the road_

_always doing what you're told_

_can you help me?_

Dean sighed, and Sam took that as not-a-no. 

He came in and sat down carefully on the edge of Dean's bed.

Dean suddenly became aware that he'd been wrapped around a pillow in a death grip and shoved it away from himself.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Dean stared at his brother.

He pulled the headphones down and paused the music.

Much to his own surprise and Sam's, he said:

"It wasn't just the sex stuff. He used to - just. Uhm. Hold me. For hours."

Dean gave Sam a startled look, like he wasn't sure that had actually come out of his own mouth.

Sam looked like he was at a loss with how to respond to that, or to anything other than his brother grousing at him and throwing things around.

Turned out that floodgate was harder to close than Dean had thought, and he was in so much pain that he was almost delirious with it.

He wasn't sure what he expected Sam to do.

But the softening of his features, and the sad eyes, the look of total understanding, made Dean fervently wish he hadn't said anything at all.

Dean shut his eyes against whatever ridiculous shit was about to come out of Sam's mouth.

"Dean," said Sam, and _here it comes_ , "do you think maybe he was - maybe it's legit?"

"Huh?" Dean replied.

"Cas said that telling you - telling _us_ \- would endanger whatever he's working on," said Sam. "So do you think maybe he's got a good reason for what he's doing?"

"Sam, when has he _ever_ not had 'a good reason'?" Dean asked, flopping back onto the bed. "He always _thinks_ it's good, and then goes and becomes God or lets in Satan and I don't even wanna _think -_ we have _sex_ now, Sam, and I thought he was a _demon -_ "

"Whoa, okay, tmi," said Sam.

"Hey, you brought this on yourself," said Dean.

"Touché," his brother said. "Be careful what you wish for, I guess. But maybe this time it's different. Rowena said -"

"You've been around Rowena too long," grumped Dean. "M I gonna be the last non-supernatural person in this family?"

Sam grinned at him.

"Aw, you think of Rowena as family?" he asked.

"Don't push your luck."

"Anyway," said Sam. "I really don't think Cas would hurt you deliberately like that. Maybe he really does have a good reason. He loves you, Dean. So much."

Dean looked up at his brother from what felt like a bottomless, slippery black glass bowl of utter despair and grief.

"Don't say shit like that to me, Sam," Dean said. "Don't."

"Okay," said Sam, standing up. "Just think about it, will you? I just don't want to see, after everything - you seemed so _happy_ , and the -"

Dean watched his brother not say _the rings_ and _the house_. He saw the thoughts flit across Sam's expression as if they were written there.

They knew each other too well.

"I'll make you a grilled cheese sandwich cut in triangles."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well, I'm going to make one for myself anyway and I'll bring you one in case you get hungry later," said Sam.

"I don't wanna eat dry congealed cheese."

"Then don't. But hey, um. I'm here for you. Okay?"

"Got it," said Dean quietly, and put his headphones back on.

_Hey you_

_don't tell me there's no hope at all_

_Together we stand_

_Divided, we fall._

***

Half an hour later, Sam left a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches for Dean.

The cheese was hot and melting all over the plate.

Dean's stomach growled.

He gave in, and picked up the plate, enjoying the sensation of buttery crunch as he bit into the first one.

_Maybe..._

_maybe Sam's right._

"Cas," said Dean, with his mouth full, then swallowed. "Cas, I love you. I hope you're okay."

And maybe it wasn't an answer -

that horrible burning smell had been replaced by the stale scent of the bunker a few hours after Cas had left, but the memory remained -

and it might take time -

but it was a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is _Hey You_ by Pink Floyd.
> 
> This is just a bit of personal confusion, but I don't get why John's taste in music included Led Zeppelin. He's not really in the right age group for that, given Dean and Sam's ages, and I always thought it'd make more sense for him to like earlier rock n roll. Then again, I guess we'd have a very different story if he was into the Beach Boys or something.


	120. d'Artagnan and Constance - Then

Sam and Dean were sitting in a hot spring just outside Craters of the Moon.

"Man, this is the life, ain't it?" asked Dean, relaxing as he leaned back against the rocks in the water. "How could you give all this up? We live the lives the rich men pay for, the whole country's our oyster."

"Except the part where we get to make and keep friends," said Sam. "Or have a _life_ , Dean, you can't live forever in the margins."

"Watch me."

"It's a life that makes you happy, Dean," said Sam. "But it's not that way for me."

Dean looked over at his brother.

"So we want different things," he said. "I can deal with that. You want to do the Grand Tour before you head off to college, I can deal with that too."

"Okay," said Sam.

"Okay."

***

The two of them went everywhere.

They celebrated Sam's birthday on Venice Beach.

The statue of Crazy Horse. Roadside zoos, which were already on their way out, much to Sam's approval. The Washington Monument. Small town America, from Arkansas to West Virginia to Montana, where Dean had always felt a little uncomfortable because he thought he was going to be eaten by the sky.

The Great Salt Lake. Arches National Park. 

Savannah, St. Louis, Little Rock, Branson.

The entire summer passed in just that way, as they worked their way through every monument, restaurant, and roadside attraction they could think of, and tried a few new things on the way.

Near the end of the summer, in mid-August, sticky-hot and humid, they found themselves in Chicago.

"This is where you wanna spend the last month before you go to school?" asked Dean. "Here? Not California or Florida or - whatever?"

"I'm going to California," said Sam. "I won't be back in this area for a long time. So I figure, yeah. What do you think?"

"Up to you, Sam," said Dean, and up until that point, he'd been distracted enough to forget about Sam's imminent departure, but now it loomed large in front of them both like the approaching shadow of night.

Dean turned to his brother and smiled.

"Up to you."


	121. Don Quixote and Dulcinea - Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW mentions of extreme child abuse

Dean had finally emerged from his bedroom.

Sam was eating cereal in the kitchen.

"Hey," he said. "Good to see you up and about."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean grumbled, digging around in the fridge.

"Are you okay?" asked Sam.

"I'm _fine_ ," said Dean, coming up with salami and cheese and Miracle Whip. "Great. Let's find a hunt. I'm gettin' cabin fever stuck in here."

Dean could feel Sam's eyes on him.

"You know," said Sam, and Dean winced, because he knew that tone of voice, "Cas has been really good for you. Like. You talk now. What the hell did he do?"

_Cas has a magic dick_ , Dean wanted to say so bad.

"Cas has a magic dick," said Dean, because he talked now.

Sam's face was priceless.

"Dean, _gross,_ " Sam said with feeling.

"You asked."

Sam's phone buzzed.

He spun it around on the table and looked at it.

"What the fuck?" he said.

"Language," said Dean, mock-surprised. 

"Rowena says _tell Dean that you need to hear his worst memory and go stand together in the library._ "

"Tell your girlfriend I ain't into that kinky shit," said Dean. "Well. Not _that_ kinky shit."

The phone buzzed again.

They both looked at it.

_This is serious, Samuel. We don't have much time._

"I think she means it."

Dean's phone buzzed. He looked at it.

"It's from Cas."

He ignored the way his stomach did a somersault about that fact.

_Dean. Please listen to Rowena._

"What - "

"Maybe this is what Cas was working on."

"My _worst_ memory?" said Dean. "How'm I s'posed to know which one that is, Sam? Kind of a hell of a lot to choose from!"

But he knew.

Of course he knew.

He knew why, when he'd been captured, they'd chosen roaches.

Thing was, roaches didn't bother him anymore.

After something like that happens to you, it's kind of hard to have anything like a reaction.

Somewhere during his lifetime, Dean had read somewhere that _the things that truly terrify you sometimes cause no reaction: boredom and disinterest are far more common._

Dean knew.

***

"When - uh, damn it," said Dean. "When we were kids. You were a baby so you wouldn't really remember, you'd just started to walk I think."

Dean sighed. He couldn't believe he was doing this, right now in the kitchen, but he had to trust that Rowena and Cas knew what they were doing.

_Cas, I'm trusting you. Do you hear me?_

"Yeah?" Sam said, encouraging.

"I wasn't exactly - I wasn't the _good little soldier_ either, Sam, not at first."

Sam just sat there, expectant, and whatever was going on, Dean knew he'd have to finish the story.

"So he started putting me through my paces, as he called it," said Dean. "Y'know. Um. Sharpshooting, whatever. Weight training. Fighting."

"When you were _four_ ," said Sam.

"Well, I was around five or six by this time, it took him a while to - but yeah, a little kid anyway," said Dean. 

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother in the eye.

"And then there was fear. He wanted to condition me out of it."

Sam had the look of a man who did not want to hear the ending.

But if Cas said this needed to happen, then so be it.

"He locked me in a cellar. There were roaches. You're a smart guy, Sam. Extrapolate."

Sam gave him a horrified look.

"He - what," Sam said.

Dean didn't know where the tears were coming from but he could feel them stinging the backs of his eyes.

"Got me to stop screaming after the first few weeks," said Dean. "I sure was quiet after. Quiet little kids are good little kids, they don't bother you with shit like _fear_ or _emotions_ or _problems._ "

" _That's_ why you went mute?" asked Sam.

"Well, wouldn't you?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Sometimes he'd leave food and water in there with me, sometimes he wouldn't," said Dean. "Not the only thing he did, but definitely the worst, because I had no idea how long he'd leave me in there. I fuckin' _hate_ roaches, man, and these were big ones, too. But these days I just - I don't know. I see one and - nothing. I guess that was the point. But I don't want the fuckers anywhere _near_ me and, and. I'd really - I want to live above ground, Sam, I -"

"Dean," said Sam, shaking his head. "God. I can't -"

"No time for that, Sam, we gotta get to the library."

Sam breathed out through his nose.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same, huh?" said Sam, shaking his head.

"Rome wasn't burned in a day."

" _Built_ in a day."

"I doubt either thing took a day."

"Dean -"

"Fine. Library. C'mon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I partly stole this idea from Dean Koontz, but that's his fault for also being named Dean just like the rest of us around here ;)


	122. Song of Solomon

They skidded into the library to find Rowena already there, eyes lit up violet painting something in blood on the floor.

"Stand here, Samuel," she directed, and Sam just - went.

Suddenly, the room filled with wind -

and there was Castiel, filled with white light, shining from his eyes and his mouth, trenchcoat whipping around him.

Dean just stared.

"Cas, what the hell is going -"

" _Hear me,_ " bellowed Castiel, in a voice that brooked no argument and the high-pitched noise of angelic tones behind it. " _I am the guardian of the brothers Winchester, and I am here with the witch-woman to close the doors of Heaven._ "

"Cas?" Dean whispered.

" _I offer the memories of the Righteous Man,_ " Castiel continued, as if Dean hadn't spoken, or maybe Cas hadn't heard him through all the noise. " _A man who has touched all planes of existence, the web of his knowledge, of the people he knew, and they knew, and so on throughout his lifetime. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory - and I, as one who has touched the Empty, as the final connection._ "

Dean saw Sam lit up in a wash of dark light, his eyes rolling over black. Dean looked at Cas and saw the same, as a black-eyed child walked up to him, took his hand, and vanished.

" _Every individual memory of the Righteous Man remains intact and unsullied,_ " Castiel went on. " _Every individual that brought him to this moment, every experience, every word spoken, everything that made him._ "

"One last item," Rowena said, eyes and hands glowing violet, her body shaking with the effort of control. "Your _happiest_ memory, Dean. The _truth._ "

Unbidden, it came to him -

a pair of barn doors opening, sparks flying, a dark flash of wings on high wooden walls cluttered with sigils,

blue eyes and that honey-whisky gravel voice.

"It's you, Cas," Dean whispered. "You made me believe I do - I do deserve to be saved."

Castiel held out a hand.

Dean went willingly, and took it.

There was a distant rumble, like an earthquake.

Lightning struck, and the bunker split in two, the outside air rushing in as the walls fell away.

Dean held onto Cas's hand, and the last thing he knew was light.


	123. Persephone and Hades

Dean came to in the rubble of what was left of the bunker.

Cas's fingers were on his forehead, and he could feel the carbonation of his blood that told him he was being swiftly repaired by grace.

"Cas," he croaked. "Cas, what the hell happened?"

Castiel stood back and away from him as Dean stood up, covered in dust.

"I closed Heaven," he said. "Just as we had long hoped."

Rowena and Sam were standing nearby.

"How -" Dean began.

"It was your memories, Dean," said Castiel. "I couldn't risk your altering them for any reason at all, because it was the main element of the spell. I couldn't tell Sam because I didn't know if I could trust him to keep quiet."

Dean just stared at him.

"I can only hope you'll forgive me," said Castiel. "I didn't -"

But Cas didn't get to finish his sentence, because Dean was kissing him.

***

When they finally broke apart, Rowena stepped forward.

"I will keep my end of the bargain," she said. "But that means Samuel must keep the end of his."

"Sam?" asked Dean. "Is _everybody_ hiding things from me around here?"

"Part of the deal was helping Rowena rule Hell," said Sam. "She asked me not to tell you, and I agreed, because I was pretty sure you were going to freak out."

"Well, yeah, Sam!" said Dean. "Damn it, we are supposed to decide this stuff _together_."

"Dean, it's all right," said Sam. "If this keeps Heaven and Hell off the radar, then so be it."

"I don't wanna - I can't live without you here, man," said Dean, aware of how he sounded but so far past giving a shit.

"I've arranged for that as well," said Rowena. "Sam will spend six months of the year here with you, and six months with me. Spring and summertime, like Persephone."

Dean looked from Sam, to Rowena, to Cas again.

"And you all set this up without me?" he asked.

"It was the only way," said Rowena. "But just think of it - now you're free. Sure, there will still be monsters, but Heaven and Hell, Purgatory, the Empty - they're off the board."

"And you're okay with this?" Dean asked Sam, incredulous.

Sam just smiled a little.

"Yeah, Dean, I am," he said. "If this is what it takes, then this is what it takes. Guess I turned out to be the boy king after all."

"Queen consort, really," Rowena put in.

Sam shook his head and grinned.

"Anyway, Rowena's leaving now, but I'll be here until September," said Sam. 

He looked up at the ruins of the bunker.

"And we're going to need a new place," he said. "So - you want to go house hunting? What do you say?"

Dean looked at them again.

He put his hand in Castiel's.

"Okay," he said.

END OF PART II.


	124. Author's Note for Part II

Taking a small break here to say hello again and thank you all so much for sticking with this weird story :)

There are so many things I wanted to cover, so many places across the States, foods, cultures, little holes-in-the-wall, to show the loneliness and the inherent adventure of the drifter lifestyle, the way that it makes societal norms look very strange because it's hard to uphold them, something you also see with cowboys or other people that live outside of society for whatever reason.

We're now heading into the third and final part of this story.

I hope it's been as fun for you to read as it has been for me to write. :)


	125. III. Earth Girls Are Easy - Now

_Imagine there's no heaven_

_It's easy if you try_

_No hell below us_

_Above us, only sky..._

Cas moved in Dean like he had no other plans, ever.

He nuzzled against Dean's skin, scratching him with the stubble of his five-o-clock shadow.

"You're so lovely in your surrender," Dean felt Cas murmur against the soft skin of his cheek.

"C'mon, Cas, knock it off," said Dean, and he could _feel_ himself blushing, cheeks aflame in a way he knew made his freckles stand out, and he also knew that's why Cas did this, talked to him this way.

They were in the backseat of the Impala, all the windows steamed up, Cas on top of Dean balls-deep inside him, rocking in gentle little insistent thrusts like Cas was content to make this last ten years if he had to. 

Cas _loved_ laying claim to Dean in any and every way, and every thrust inside him was like underlining it over and over again.

"You can't just _say_ things like that," said Dean.

Castiel huffed a laugh against his skin, ticking his hips forward again as if emphasizing that Dean belonged to him.

"Why not?" Cas asked. "It's the truth."

"Cas," said Dean, embarrassed.

"Don't worry," Cas assured him. "I know you have a reputation to uphold. I won't tell anyone."

He smiled.

Cas's pillow talk was unlike anything Dean had ever known.

"You are the altar at which I worship," he said gently. "My religion, my peace."

Dean sighed against him, and wrapped his legs around Castiel tight, drawing him deeper.

Cas yelped and completely lost control.

Where he had been slow and tortuous before, he suddenly slammed his hands into the car door and there was a cracking noise as his fingers tightened there, as Cas suddenly pistoned into Dean with everything he had, crying out his release at the same time as Dean arched his back and came across his stomach.

Panting, Castiel collapsed onto Dean, trying to calm his racing heart and slow his breathing.

"Wow," said Dean. "I think I have bruises on my ass from your hipbones."

"Why do you insist on having sex in the car when the house is _right there_?" groaned Castiel against him.

Dean opened the car door and let the autumn air in, cooling their heated skin.

He grinned up at Cas, because he knew Cas couldn't resist it.

"What can I say, I love this car," Dean said.

***

Cas had finally explained things to him, now that he deemed it safe for Dean to know.

Rowena had found a spell to close heaven, that much he knew.

But Castiel, as the angel who had saved the Righteous Man, was the key.

And the Righteous Man's memories -

everything that made him _Dean._

Every life he had touched, or had touched his.

But they had to be _pure, unadulterated memories,_ and Castiel had known that Dean wouldn't be able to keep them pristine if he thought Cas was rummaging around in there.

The final ingredients, the worst and best, had to be brought forth at the correct time.

"This was the best gift I could give you," said Castiel. "Peace. For what it's worth."

"And what about when people die?"

"Still heaven or hell," said Cas. "They're still there, just - distant. The way that most people have always assumed them to be."

"And the monsters?"

"I've had enough of death," said Cas. "The monsters stay."

"That's all right," said Dean with a shrug. "Gives me somethin' to do. Better than, uh, my occupational hazard bein' my occupation's just not around."

"Are you quoting Jimmy Buffett?"

"Hey, we're not in Florida, nobody's gonna kill me for it."

"I'll take your word for it."

"I can't believe you did all this," Dean told him.

"I hope I chose correctly this time. I hope you approve."

"Cas, buddy," said Dean, kissing him. "I approve."

"Then I am delighted."

***

They had chosen a house near the Canadian border in northern Minnesota.

Dean had wanted a farewell to Kansas for good.

The story began there, and that story ended there.

"I wanted to start a new story somewhere else with you," Dean told him.

They moved into the tall white farmhouse on Lake Superior a few months later.

All the important stuff from the bunker was moved to the house, and the bunker was razed to the ground. Cas didn't want anyone to happen across it and figure anything out.

Cas liked to perch high on the beams in the central open living room. He had to be reminded to wear clothes when people came over. Dean loved to hear him sing in the mornings, often love songs so epic and romantic that he teased Cas about the possibility of selling them to Paul McCartney.

"Time for the monster to get his happy ending," Dean said, and kissed him in the late afternoon sunlight.

***

Cas was standing behind the Impala as he waited for Dean to get his clothes back on. They'd found a hunt, a haunting a few counties over, and had promised Jody that they would meet up with her and Donna.

The autumn leaves had begun to fall, and they skittered across the ground as Dean put boots on the ground again.

Cas was looking up at the trees, still heavy with red and gold.

Dean reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the green jelly ring from so long ago, bright against the white of his fingertips.

He got down on one knee, and he waited for Cas to turn around.


	126. Michael - Then

In Chicago, Sam had joined a Black Baptist church that was near the motel where they were staying.

Dean was back to turning tricks again, but not quite so often.

One day, he went down there to help set up for a church picnic in the park, and he asked Sam why he'd joined and spent most of his time there.

"Because I believe, Dean, we've talked about this before," said Sam. "I can't believe you don't, what with our lives and all."

Dean had shaken his head and said _pfft._

"Mom used to tell me that angels were watching over me," said Dean. "What a crock."

"I don't think it's a crock," said Sam.

"Don't matter if you believe in the Lord," said a portly woman who was helping them. "He believes in you."

"This is Ellie," said Sam. "Ellie, this is my brother, Dean."

"Hm," she said, giving him a once-over that made him feel weirdly exposed. "Son, you got problems a mile wide. Why not lay them at the feet of the Lord?"

_Because I'm not worth the bother,_ thought Dean. _Even if he is real._

"Ain't seen no proof he's even up there," said Dean. "Or that he cares. All due respect, ma'am, but it just ain't for me."

"He got an angel just for you," said Ellie. "One that'll watch over you. You don't believe in Him, well. Keep an eye out for that angel, maybe you'll see."

"Ellie is the choir leader," said Sam. "She can sing the house down."

"Aw, alright, that's enough flattery," said Ellie. "Let's get to work, boys."

During the picnic, Dean kept thinking about what Ellie had said.

And maybe -

if he could just believe in something small,

something _good,_ just for him, his guardian angel -

maybe that was a start.

He started talking to his guardian angel that day, in his head, though he never did tell Sam about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part for the choir I met so many years ago - you were awesome, ladies, and I have always appreciated everything you did for me. <3


	127. Species - Now

_Cas._

_Cas, turn around, damn it._

Dean was losing his nerve, and if he started sweating more the ring was going to slip out of his fingers.

His cheeks were on fire and by this time he was staring firmly at the ground as if the leaves beneath his feet were going to give him answers to the questions of the universe.

_Great. You can hear me when it's sex stuff but not now...?_

Dean did not want to look up again.

He couldn't even bring himself to speak.

He'd spent a lifetime being tortured, being a torturer, fighting monsters and ghosts and God and the Devil and God's sister and who knows what else.

Dean had never felt the stomach-dropping, abject terror he felt in this moment, not during all of that, not even before it.

Scraped raw and bare, he'd never felt so naked.

Finally, Dean looked up.

Cas _had_ turned around, in fact.

And was staring down at him with an open mouth and a stunned expression, frozen in place like a cemetery angel in a graveyard.

Like he couldn't speak either.

_I'm supposed to be able to **talk** now, Sam said so!_

But apparently it was conditional, because now Dean was right back to square one, just when he needed that new ability most, and it left him.

And so they stayed just like that, with _don't make me say it_ and _I don't know for sure that you mean what I think you mean_ staring at each other.

"Cas," said Dean, his voice on a faraway croak. "Cas."

_Unstick your tongue, Winchester! Damn._

"Marry me?"

Shit, if he thought he was blushing hard already, now he felt like boil-in-a-bag rice.

But this seemed to have cut Cas's strings, because he fell to his knees, and took Dean's face in his hands, kissing him, and saying _yes, yes, yes,_ against his lips.

Suddenly Dean was laughing, and trying to grab Cas's hand, which was difficult because he was refusing to let go of Dean's face, and fumbling with the ring because his hands were slippery -

but he finally got ahold of Castiel's hand and slid the ring onto his finger as tears slid from his eyes unbidden and he couldn't stop the laughter bubbling up inside of him.

"But what about you?" Cas asked when he came up for air next.

"Oh - I -" Dean said, rummaging in his pocket and pulling out the little bag that still had the blue ring in it.

"Let me," said Cas, and Dean waited patiently as Castiel slid the blue jelly ring onto his finger as well.

Suddenly they were somewhere else, kneeling in the midst of a black lunar landscape.

Dean looked around himself and recognized it immediately.

"This is Craters of the Moon," he said.

"Yes," said Castiel. "I want you to have it. As an engagement gift."

Dean stared at him.

"What?"

"I built it. It's mine to give. And I know how you love it."

Dean held Cas at arm's length.

"Dude, you have _got_ to stop it with the lavish...I mean, what can I give _you_?" Dean asked. "A recipe for Velveeta Shells and Cheese? It's right on the box, man."

"You have already given me the most precious gift," said Castiel. "You."

Dean swallowed and looked at the ground again, but he caught sight of the jelly rings and couldn't stop staring at them, or their hands laced together.

"All this pales in comparison, Dean."

Dean looked around at the park.

"I have a good friend who told me that no one owns the land, they just look after it for a while," said Dean. "So thanks, Cas, but I think we should stick to the small stuff."

"Very well," said Cas, and they were back in their own yard, behind the Impala.

"You want me to make you shells and cheese?" Dean asked, and Castiel gave him a serious nod.

"I want anything you'd like to give me, Dean Winchester," he said. "I want everything."


	128. City of Angels - Then

Dean's dread of the day didn't make it come slower. If anything, time seemed as if it was speeding up.

"We gotta go, Dean," said Sam. "It's going to take us a few days to get there if you want to go slow."

Of course Dean wanted to go slow. It was his last ride with his brother.

They'd been staying in a house that Ellie had up for rent but hadn't yet found renters. She knew they'd be leaving soon because of Sam's imminent departure for Stanford. She hadn't much approved of their staying in motels, saying _you boys need a home_.

Dean didn't agree - his home was the road, and probably always would be, but because he knew his brother well, he wanted it for Sam.

Because it's what Sam would have wanted.

"Okay, let's pack," said Dean.

"Pack what? We hardly own anything."

"You want to go on the road right now? In the dark?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well, I mean, you gotta say your goodbyes, and...stuff."

Sam gave Dean one of his patented looks.

"I know you want to draw this out," said Sam. "I get it, Dean, I do. I'm going to miss you too."

He paused.

"Have you thought about," Sam said, like he was gearing up for something, "coming with me?"

Dean stared at his brother.

"Coming with you?" he repeated. "What, at Stanford? You don't want me around draggin' you down, Sam. All those smart people. What am I gonna do there? Besides, there's still people out there who need saving."

"Offer's on the table, if you want it," said Sam.

There was a knock at the door.

"Must be Ellie," said Dean. "She always seems to have a sixth sense about these things, you'd be amazed at how she just _knew_ I ate that last slice of pie. She's gonna know we're about to cut and run -"

And he opened the door to John Winchester.

Dean had seen a lot of horror movies, a lot of real-life horror, but nothing compared to the sheer jumpscare that finding his dad on the other side of the screen door gave him.

"Dad!" he said.

He almost shut the door in his face and left him standing on the porch.

In retrospect, maybe he should have.

"Can I come in?" he asked, and Dean, mute again, let him.

John walked into the living room and Sam gave Dean a look of sheer betrayal. 

Dean just stared at the ground.

"Hope you boys have got it out of your system," John said. "It's time to get back to work. There's a case in the -"

"No!" Sam shouted. " _NO,_ Dad! Leave us the hell alone! We've done _fine_ on our own, you - "

"Oh, is that what you think?" said John, in a silky voice as he lifted his phone and wagged it in the air. "That you kids were _alone_ , you're all grown up, you don't need your old man anymore?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"GPS in the Impala," he said. "I knew where you two were, every second. You had the illusion of independence. Bet you both thought you were so clever, evading your dad, living life on your terms! Newsflash, kids, that was never gonna happen."

"You know what, Dad? I have better things to do," said Sam. "So fuck you. _Fuck you._ "

Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and made for the door.

"Sam, if you walk out that door, don't expect to come back," said John.

"This isn't even _your house, Dad_ ," Sam snarled.

Then he looked at Dean.

"Dean," said Sam. "Are you coming?"

John laughed.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "Dean can't survive without me, Sam, you know that. Neither can you, but I guess you need to be a stubborn idiot first before you find out."

_Fucking idiot._

_Stupid._

_you got tricked, again, because you don't know any better, and can't function on your own._

Dean lifted his head, defiant.

"Sam, wait up," said Dean, and went out into the darkness.

But Sam was already gone.


	129. The Blue Lagoon - Then

"And just where the hell do you think you're going?"

John's voice had a way of brooking no argument. Dean stood up straight.

_If you don't stand up to your old man right now, boy, you never will._

"M goin' with Sam," said Dean, defiant.

John stared him down. Dean stood resolute.

"What do you think you're gonna find out there?" asked John. "I spent over half the year killin' all the monsters around you two. Ever wondered why you _never_ heard a thing about a hunt? Figured you boys deserved a vacation, didn't realize it was going to be mutiny."

He shook his head, a sour look on his face that made Dean's bones ache with guilt.

"How could you do that to your poor mother?" he said.

From somewhere, somehow, white-hot anger flashed through Dean.

"Stop!" he shouted. "Just shut the fuck up, Dad, don't _use her against us_ like that! You know what, this - this little _vendetta_ you've got going on, fuck that. It was never about us, or Mom! It was about _you,_ and _vengeance._ "

"I can't believe you, Dean," said John. "Your mother deserved -"

" _I deserved a childhood!_ " Dean roared in his father's face. "I'm not a soldier, some grunt in your little war! I'm your _son!_ "

"Keep it up," said John quietly. "I already lost one son tonight. Don't make me lose two."

Dean ran a hand through his hair, eyes bright with frustration.

"You know what, Dad?" he said. "You can do this on your own. I'm out."

John gave a soft laugh.

"Out there, without my protection?" he scoffed. "You think you can survive? Don't think I don't know how you made money -"

"Hey! At least I made it! I took care of _your sons_ , both of us!" said Dean. "Screw you, Dad."

Dean stomped outside and went to the Impala, grabbing his duffel bag and shoving what clothes he had left in the car in there.

"Don't take that one," said John.

"What?"

"I like that one. Take the other one, it's not as good."

Dean stared at him.

"Unfuckingbelievable," he said. "Go to hell. Get out. You ain't welcome here no more."

John held his hands up, and then grabbed the keys from Dean's hand, got into the Impala, and drove down the street.

Dean slammed and locked the door, pulled down the window shades and locked the windows of the house for good measure.

Neither he or Sam had cell phones, and unlike their father, had not put trackers on each other.

So he had no idea where Sam might be, or if he would ever see him again.

He sat on the hardwood floor and cried.

***

The following day, he thanked Ellie and made his excuses, leaving town on the next Greyhound bus to California.

He'd hit his knees in the bus stop bathroom and left there with enough cash for a ticket and some food.

Dean fell asleep with his head pillowed against his leather jacket and he talked to his guardian angel, asking for a better someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something I'd wanted to address regarding a misconception about the drifter lifestyle: apparently people perceive us as the great unwashed. Drifters tend to be meticulously clean as people. We don't own much aside from ourselves and personal cleanliness is important, especially due to things like illness and the lack of healthcare on the road. We are even a little germaphobic, because believe me the last thing you want on a 16-hour drive is the stomach flu or even a cold. The very idea that we are dirty by nature is yet another inherently classist aspect of interacting with those who know nothing of our lifestyle and is one of the rare assumptions that infuriates me. Sure, there are many stereotypes floating around out there, but the general concept of our dirtiness, or the percieved 'dirtiness' of our 'homes' (cars & mom & pop motels) is a pretty shit take. Yes, there are some horrifying motels out there, but you'll often find that a family motel is someone's pride and joy. Might not be fancy, but often clean.
> 
> Yes, the Impala is a little too pristine in the show; where are all the cheeseburger wrappers? That's just accumulated mess from a long drive. Once a drifter gets their hands on a shower, that's the place they go first, especially since much of our work is manual day labor. I don't know where the impression that we're dirty has come from, but tbh I find that people who are stationary tend towards living in their own filth far more, mainly because they have a place in which to do it. There's a reason for the saying 'a rolling stone gathers no moss', after all.
> 
> Speaking of which, you bet your ass we're all cooling our heels at the moment due to the pandemic, which is why I've had time to write this ridiculous extravaganza. No drifter or hobo worth their salt is stupid enough to endanger themselves or others. We've had years of experience protecting ourselves and other people. We're not about to stop now, regardless of the other popular stereotype of 'serial killer', but it seems to us that Americans don't currently need any help in that department. The more stupid shit people pull with the guns and the anti mask thing is going to put serial killers and terrorists out of business. Who needs enemies or villains or murderers when Americans can just do it to themselves? 
> 
> Apologies for the strong wording of these comments, but polite language goes out the window when people are in danger. Drifters and hobos have a very particular and passionate love of America and Americans. It breaks us up to see this happening. Please watch out for yourselves and each other. The drifter and hobo contingent will keep looking after you and yours, here in the background, the shadow-world of America, but this has always been a tacit agreement - that you won't fuck it up. And you need to uphold your end of that bargain.


	130. Legally Blonde - Now

"Okay, Cas, since we're engaged now and all," said Dean, "I'm going to share something really important with you. Something nobody else has ever seen. Ready?"

"Of course, Dean."

"Okay," said Dean, taking a deep breath. "These are the movies that I definitely don't own and definitely don't watch."

Cas gave him a strange look.

" _Earth Girls Are Easy?_ " he read aloud. " _Species_?"

"Okay, well, hey, maybe I've had a little bit of a kink for otherworldly creatures even before you showed up," said Dean, laughing.

"Yes, like the tentacles."

Dean glared at him.

"How did you know -" until a thought pulled him up short. "Do you, uh, have -"

Castiel smiled at him serenely.

***

Later, while Dean was cooking, he turned to Cas, who was seated at the table, going through some lore.

"When Rowena said to tell us or she would, don't you think that would've ruined the whole, _unadulterated memories_ thing?" Dean asked.

Cas looked at him.

"She was only referring to the angelic qualities imbued from your time with me."

"What did that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing at all."

"Then why - "

"Because she is inappropriate," said Castiel. "Do we have any lamb's blood?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I have always assumed that Dean secretly really likes both chick flicks and weird movies.


	131. Alien Nation - Then

Dean made his way to Stanford.

He found Sam - saw him across the quad, laughing with some girls.

_You really wanna go in there and fuck it all up for the kid?_

_You've sacrificed your whole life to give him one._

_Don't go there just because you don't wanna be lonely._

So, after watching his little brother from a distance for awhile, Dean turned around and left.

***

He found himself in Los Angeles, because it was warm at that time of year.

For a while, he made too much food until he realized that he'd been accustomed to cooking for two.

Dean still got down on his knees for money, but the opportunities in LA were scarce.

Too many takers, too many pretty guys who were in LA determined to make the big time and just as willing as Dean to do it.

So he starved, again, dreaming of mashed potatoes as he slept in a parking garage until the night watchman turfed him out.

He crawled underneath some cardboard flatpacks on the beach and tried to sleep there, but it was wintertime in LA and night was fucking _cold._

There were other homeless people, mostly kids, around the Santa Monica dinosaurs. He wanted to befriend them, but had learned over time that the last thing he wanted to do was get attached. Then the news came out that one of them was found in an old abandoned warehouse, squatting with people she didn't know, and they'd found her in pieces the next day.

Dean kept to himself after that, and stayed away.

The sheer _loneliness_ was getting to him, just like he knew it would.

Sure, Dean was tough, and put on a face that made him look even tougher.

Truth was, he had a sensitive soul and the thing he hated most was losing his family, being alone. 

Sam was better at those things.

Loneliness sat in his heart and pulled at his soul like a hunger, a starvation, a need.

He wondered why he was so much weaker than Sam, in this needing of other people.

He craved touch with all his being and avoided it entirely for the same reason.

Touch could not be trusted.

Dean's heart and soul could not be trusted.

Too kind, too giving, too much need.

The loneliness set in him like an ache that could not be soothed.

***

Later, he would wonder if this had been John's plan all along:

for Dean to wave the white flag,

for Dean to choose to return on his own,

crawl back on his belly like a dog asking forgiveness, and acknowledge he couldn't make it alone.

Not like his Dad. Not like Sam.

Because Dean was inherently broken. 

Inherently weak.

There was something functionally, inherently _wrong_ with him that he couldn't fix.

And Dean realized that he was admitting to all these things when he phoned his father of his own free will and asked to be picked up.

John would only do it if Dean admitted that he'd been right all along, and that he needed him.

That he couldn't do it on his own.

Shame burned in Dean's veins, but he was depressed and starving and lonely.

He did as he was asked, and more.

***

By New Year's Eve, Dean was hunting with his Dad again.

"You know I do this for your own good, right?" John had asked. "It's because I care about you boys so much. You need to be a good soldier, Dean. Sharp. Cold. Tough. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," Dean had said, and that was that.

Sam never called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the major aspects of living the drifter lifestyle is that it's intensely lonely.
> 
> This doesn't get covered much when it's being romanticized. But that loneliness will get into your bones, and until you know it, you have no idea how you're going to react to it. I've seen some big, tough dudes get broken up about it. Everyone thinks they can handle that level of loneliness, but it's different from living on your own in a cabin somewhere, different from the usual kinds of isolation that people experience. Human beings are social creatures, and living this way removes people from anything resembling a social experience. Things have gotten marginally better with the advent of the Internet, but it's no real substitute for companionship. 
> 
> This leads to some very strange relationships as well as Dean's unfortunate choice here, because that is how much it can get under your skin. Oddly, in my experience, even if a drifter finds a romantic partner willing to travel together for a while, they often tend to stay in exactly the same place they broke up, and end up dating or marrying someone far more 'normal'. This in itself feeds back into the sense that drifters are not normal, are worth a fling/wild-oat-sowing before settling down to a 'real' life, and perpetuates the cycle of loneliness and alienation.


	132. Moulin Rouge! - Now

Sam unlocked the front door and flipped the switch.

The entire house was covered in dust.

"Man, don't you guys clean up in here?"

"Apologies, Sam," said Cas, elbowing past him and waving a hand. 

Everything was clean again and shining.

"Remind me to have him over sometime," said Rowena, her small hand hidden in the crook of Sam's huge elbow.

"We spend much of our time hunting," Castiel explained, as he went to the stove to put on the kettle for Rowena. "The house may be warded, but the dust has to remain, I'm sorry to say."

"It's okay, Cas," said Sam, smiling. "I'm just glad we have a place with windows now."

He shivered.

"I know I'm a little old to be afraid of the dark," said Sam. "Especially given the whole, ruling Hell thing."

"Don't matter much when you got your own personal magic," said Dean, as he pushed forward into the house. "We haven't done a beer run yet, but we're goin'."

"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about that, dear," said Rowena. "I brought the champagne."

"Yeah, well, I'm gonna bring the beer," said Dean. "You ready, Cas?"

"Certainly."

***

The last few months on the road had been incredible.

Dean and Cas hunted together like they were choreographed.

They understood each other, the way their partner fought and moved and planned.

There was no friction at all, only an easy smooth and liquid peace.

Dean was so happy he thought he might die of it.

Castiel assured him that this was impossible.

Nights at the motels were memorable, too.

Cas, a glass of brandy in his hand as he sat in a wingback chair, issuing commands as Dean knelt in front of him, needy and silent, his cock hard and dripping.

Dean, showing Cas the delights of pie across the United States, from Mississippi Mud to French Silk to pumpkin pie to blueberry, and pie a la mode since they now lived so close to the place where it had been invented.

Cas, bringing Dean to exotic places all over the world when they had some downtime, and Dean not-so-secretly reminded of his childhood love of _Aladdin._

And in all this, Dean thought of the people he had known and the places he had been, the things they all had taught him.

Michel left Paris to live in the swamps with Narcisse, just as Cas had left Heaven for Dean.

He still went there from time to time; after all, the angelic host was depleted, and they were working on a solution to the problem.

Dean's fears of waking and finding Castiel burning on the ceiling finally began to fade.

This life, where _he_ chose what his happiness meant, and the shape that it had taken, was more reward than just about anything else he could dream.

So what if it happened to be strangely-shaped? And so what if his happiness also came in a creature contained in a man-shaped vessel? 

Happiness does not take the same shape for everyone, and Dean was at peace with the weird.

Being a drifter is a series of constant goodbyes. Time marches on for the stationary, and when the drifter returns, things have always changed, while those times remain preserved in amber within the drifter's mind. They say you can never go home again. That is the drifter's experience on repeat.

For the first time in his life, Dean had a life that went along with him willingly, and a partner just as happy to be on the open road as he had always been.

They sat in the Impala, as it roared down the road, their hands linked together across the bench seats.

Dean had long since swapped the five-and-dime jelly rings for two silver bands with inlaid blue fire opal.

Just like their eyes, just like the original rings -

green and blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very fond, happy New Year to all of you, and a relieved goodbye to the terrible year that was 2020.
> 
> The reason drifters, itinerant workers, hobos, migrant workers, and the rest of us matter so much to the ongoing machinery of a nation is because we do the jobs other people don't want to do, or in many cases don't even realize exist. Much like the hunters in this show are doing a necessary but thankless job that nobody even realizes needs doing, we are all doing something similar. Just-in-time shipping is an important aspect of daily modern life, especially if you live on an island. As an aside, I fear the UK is about to find out about its importance in the worst way, as I long predicted - they've had a taste of it due to the pandemic and their government cannot pretend that this will not happen anymore, so they are on my mind here on the last day of 2020.
> 
> Just-in-time shipping and RoRo are very detailed concepts, you can look these terms up and learn about them, but the short version is that food and supplies reach your table in a very complex manner that involves multiple different people, logistics, and labor. Truckers are an essential part of this, of course, but you also need people to load items, pack them, people to make the packaging, people to staff the warehouses, so on and so forth. All of this has a time limitation due to the expiration date of food and other perishable items like medicine. When I say that I usually work as a manual day-laborer, this is what I mean. I have had countless different types of jobs, most of which have been in some part of this line. I've worked in plants where my job was to fold large cardboard boxes. Yes, an actual human has to do these things. It's hard, backbreaking work, and the days are long - 12-16 hours. But the pay is usually decent and they don't care who you are. You meet a lot of people doing this kind of work and have conversations with as many different personalities and backgrounds as you can imagine. But without us - food rots in the fields. It never makes it to your table. It gets held up at various places due to quality control and other issues of that nature. People have a hard time imagining the slaughterhouse. They have an even harder time imagining the people who put the whole thing together. Where does each element of this packaging come from? How did it get to my table? I guarantee you that a drifter or hobo had a hand in making something you have sitting on a shelf in your kitchen.
> 
> We are the inner workings of the clock, but people only ever see the movement of the hands.


	133. Wings of Desire

Dean piled the beer into the Impala's trunk as Cas came out of the liquor store with a beatific smile on his face.

"Hey there, handsome," said Dean, pulling him in by his tie and kissing him as he leaned back against the Impala.

"Hey," said Cas, smiling into the kiss. 

"You wanna run for the border?" Dean asked.

"Is that a romantic overture or a Taco Bell ad?" 

"Pf. Spoilsport."

"I don't think they'd forgive us if we did that, Dean."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean said.

"Ready?"

"Yeah, Cas. I'm ready."

***

The summer day was bright and brilliant, warm and clear.

Lake Superior was a bright ocean-blue, and a light breeze off the water made it feel almost tropical.

Dean stood on the shoreline next to Sam.

"Nervous?" asked Sam.

Dean didn't answer, but smiled a little and rubbed his hands together.

Everyone was there, seated on white wooden chairs in the yard of the house Dean had built for Cas and Sam with his own two hands. All the people they had ever known, all the people who had made him _Dean_ , everyone who could be there was sitting in the audience, waiting for the biggest moment in all of Dean's life. 

Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, the apocalypse, God, fighting monsters, defying destiny -

none of that mattered in comparison to this day.

"Tell me you have something romantic planned," said Sam. "I know how you are."

"Pft. I'm romantic," said Dean. "I bought him a case of beer, and I'm gonna wear leather. Romantic as fuck."

He clicked his tongue and made a _smooth_ gesture with his hand.

"Dude. I am _in._ "

Sam shook his head.

"Dean. You're getting married."

Dean winked.

"Like I said."

Then the music started to play, and everyone turned to look.

Dean was absolutely starstruck.

He started to understand why every supernatural creature they'd met called Cas _sexy._

Castiel, cool, put-together and confident, was dressed in a tuxedo and bright blue tie that matched his eyes. He walked down the aisle toward Dean as if there was nothing else in the entire universe.

Rowena walked with him, because they had grown closer in their time since the spell they'd had to work together.

She was, like Sam and Dean, the closest thing Castiel still had to family.

"What song is that?" Dean whispered.

" _Angel Mine_ by Cowboy Junkies."

" _Sam._ "

"Hey, it would've been _Cowboys Are Frequently Secretly Fond of Each Other_ if you'd escalated that prank war."

Dean gave Sam an impressed look.

"Gotcha. Good call."

And there was Castiel, standing in front of him suddenly, more handsome than he'd ever looked in all the time that Dean had known him.

"Hi, Cas," said Dean, in a soft small voice, grinning like an idiot.

Cas grinned back and looked at the ground.

"Hi," he said shyly.

"We are gathered here today to witness the marriage of Dean Winchester and Castiel," Sam announced, because he was also the officiant.

Dean only had eyes for Cas, and they were both smiling at each other with tears in their eyes.

"Dean would like to read his vows."

Dean nodded, and pulled out a piece of paper.

"I ain't the best at this kinda thing," said Dean, "so this is gonna be short."

He looked out at the crowd of people watching, smiling back at him. Friends, comrades-in-arms, people he'd met, the world that had shaped him as he had shaped them just by knowing him.

Then he turned back to Cas, whose eyes were as blue as the water.

"Words fail me, Castiel," Dean read. "There are too many, and not enough, for me to explain what you mean to me. I love you, Cas. That's all. And that's everything."

Cas laughed a little, and ducked his head.

"And now Castiel would like to say a few words."

Cas was beaming at him, and Dean thought his heart was going to break through his ribcage.

The tears were running freely now, and he didn't give a shit.

"Dean Winchester," sighed Castiel, as if that was his vow.

For a moment, Dean thought it might be.

"You are the world to me," said Cas. "Humanity. The earth. All that is good, green and growing things. I have lived a billion years, Dean, a hundred thousand lifetimes, and the only thing I ever wanted for myself was you."

Cas closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to get his emotions under control.

Dean knew, before he spoke again, that he was about to say something devastating, something that would knock the air right out of him.

"I want to make you grilled cheese sandwiches every day for the rest of your life."

Dean stared at him. Castiel nodded.

Then Dean began to laugh. He threw his head back and laughed at the sky.

When he came back down to earth, Cas was smiling at him, soft and serene.

Sam looked at both of them.

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mr. Winchester," said Sam. "You may kiss your husband."

The crowd went wild, screaming and throwing rice, as Cas leaned in.

It was the best kiss of Dean's entire life.

***

"No, you don't just _eat_ Hershey bars, you put 'em in s'mores," Dean was telling Rowena.

"What do you mean, you've never had a s'more? Okay, that's it, when me an' Cas get back, we're havin' a bonfire."

"Dean," said Castiel warmly. "I think they're ready for us."

Dean smiled up at Cas with his most brilliant smile, which he knew because he practiced it in the mirror sometimes.

"Yeah?" he asked, and it was like there was nothing in the world but the two of them.

"Enjoy yourselves," said Rowena. "I'm off to find your brother and some of that champagne I was kind enough to contribute."

"Thanks, Rowena," said Dean, whose eyes were still glued to Castiel's.

"May I have this dance?" asked Cas, and drew Dean to his feet as _Unchained Melody_ by the Righteous Brothers began to play.

There had been a dance floor constructed there, and lights in the trees above it, right along the lakeshore. 

"Hi there, Mr. Winchester," said Dean, leaning his forehead against Castiel's as they began to sway to the music.

"Hi yourself, Mr. Winchester," said Cas.

"Man, I can't believe we're here," murmured Dean. "After all this time."

Cas hummed his agreement.

"Sorry it didn't start in a more romantic way," said Dean. "You deserved better, Cas. I'm gonna spend the rest of my life showing you."

Cas looked up at him, and Dean saw that glint in his eye as he shrugged.

"I might have...built something of a honey trap for you," said Cas. 

Dean's jaw dropped.

"Are you telling me that you knew I was into you _the whole time_ and you just wanted to show off?"

"I have some incredible assets. So I'm told."

"Yeah, yeah, supernatural supermodel," said Dean. "I can't believe you."

"But it worked."

"I can't believe you didn't _say_ anything," said Dean. "That was torture, man!"

"Oh, and having to hear your _longing_ for over a decade wasn't?" Cas shot back. "You never said anything either."

"Huh," said Dean, laughing, "guess we really are made for each other."

"Especially you," said Castiel. "Made for me. I made sure of that."

"I love you, Castiel Winchester."

"I love you too, Dean."


	134. The Prophecy

Dean watched Cas dance with Donna, smiling fondly as he took a pull of his beer.

His bowtie was undone, as were the first few buttons of his shirt, and he had a pleasant buzz.

"Hey, sad white man."

Dean turned and grinned up at Tracy, looking beautiful with her hair done up and a gorgeous bead choker.

"Wow, Trace," said Dean. "And not so sad anymore."

"I clean up nice," she said, taking a seat. "And I'm so glad you invited me, Dean. I just may have to retire the nickname."

"It's a good one," said Dean. "Maybe you can reuse it? I hear recycling's all the rage these days."

"I'm happy for you," said Tracy. "You guys gonna be in the area sometime soon?"

"Depends where the hunt takes us."

"Make sure it takes you to Rapid City and Hot Springs," said Tracy. 

"Will do."

***

Castiel had chosen Tahiti for their honeymoon, because Dean didn't believe it was real.

The ocean was a ridiculous blue, the mountains jagged, the baby-powder beaches beyond belief. The green jungle stretched up beyond their little house, thickly shaded with palms.

Dean stared out at the jungle as it began to rain softly, pattering against the wood as he leaned on the railing.

"You really know how to show a guy a good time, you know that, Cas?"

"Anything for you."

They kissed on the balcony, long and slow and sweet.

"Cas," murmured Dean against his lips, "I think I'm ready."

Cas pulled back and looked at him.

His blue eyes shone.

"Dean - are you sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure," said Dean. "Are you?"

Castiel nodded.

"So, uh. How do we - ?"

"It's primarily about intent," said Castiel. "So - "

Castiel pressed his hands together in prayer.

" _Bless this union with issue,_ " he said.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

***

Dean crawled over Castiel's body, lavishing kisses on his skin.

"You're gorgeous," he said. "So fucking beautiful, I'm so lucky."

" _Dean_ ," sighed Castiel, and Dean heard the pleased chirp behind it.

Then he realized that he'd been able to hear Cas singing, chirping, and making all his other noises while Cas's mouth had been firmly closed.

_Must be an angel-thing,_ thought Dean. _Here I thought he was silent and stoic, but he was singing for me the whole time._

He smiled and huffed against Cas's skin.

"I love you so damn much, man," said Dean, and Castiel laughed.

"You have a way with words, Dean Winchester," he said.

They made love, and in the morning Dean woke to the happy little satisfied peeps of a sandpiper.

Sure enough, Cas was sitting there on the edge of the bed, looking out over the mountains with a self-satisfied, proud look on his face.

As Dean watched, Cas never opened his mouth, but the pleased little peeping sounds still filled the air around him.

Smiling, Dean curled himself around his husband, and with his head on Castiel's thigh, dozed off in the warmth of the morning sun.

***

Respite was always of a short nature for Dean and Cas, and they were back on the road hunting a few days later.

Dean was sitting in a café in Koreatown in Los Angeles, trying to decide whether he loved or hated bubble tea as he chewed on the tapioca after sucking it up through the straw.

"I was thinkin', Cas," he said slowly. "I think...I wanna stop drinking."

Castiel held his gaze.

"For me?"

"Well, I thought so at first," said Dean. "But then I thought, no, I gotta do this for _me,_ y'know? Especially if, uh. We have _issue._ "

He stared down into his drink for a while.

"I don't wanna be like my dad," he said softly. "I ain't. I ain't gonna be - no angry drunk, Cas, not - not with everything. I can't tie it to you, because then it's conditional. So I figure, it's gotta come from inside me, y'know? The, desire, or whatever. To be better, to be a better man."

"If that's what you want to do," said Castiel. "I'll support you."

Dean was relieved that he hadn't mentioned all those times he'd needed to heal him because of Dean's poor choices.

There was nothing in Castiel's eyes at all, no blame, no anger, no judgement.

Just easy acceptance, and Dean fell in love all over again.

Every time he thought he couldn't love Cas more, the guy just had to go and prove him wrong again.

Dean took a deep breath and grinned.

"Better hook myself up with root beer or somethin', huh?" he said. "Or sarsaparilla, that'd be the cowboy way, but they don't make it anymore, I don't think."

"Aren't they the same?" asked Cas.

"No, see, sarsaparilla is different," said Dean. "Root beer is kinda similar, but they were trying to market this shit for the temperance movement, and -"

Something caught Castiel's eye.

"Dean," Castiel said, and there was a warning in his voice.

Dean turned around to look over his shoulder and saw...

himself?

Or a very stylized version of himself, and Cas, and Sam.

"What the -"

Then he saw that the woman beside the counter was fritzing out, vanishing and reappearing.

"I think this place is haunted, Dean."

"No shit. But what are _we -_ "

The other-Castiel held out a hand, and bright light emanated from it.

The ghost burned up, and they all vanished at once.

Everyone in the café applauded, and went back to what they were doing.

"Cas," said Dean. "Cas, what the - what do we - should I get the gun?"

Dean was completely at a loss.

"I think I know what this is," said Castiel.

"Yeah?"

"Remember how we'd had word of some kind of heroic apparitions that would appear, destroy a threat, and vanish?"

Dean gaped at him.

"And they're... _us_?" he managed.

Castiel smiled.

"You can only hunt urban legends so long before you become an urban legend yourself," said Castiel. "That's the power of belief."

Dean looked around the room.

"Nobody seems all that surprised by it?"

"When you've lived all over the country and touched so many lives," said Castiel, "not only you and your brother, but all the hunters up and down the country who are keeping people safe? People _talk,_ Dean, you know that. Half of the things we hunt _happened_ because of the power of human belief."

"Huh," said Dean. "Well. Guess you really can be in two places at once."

"It certainly lightens our workload considerably."

"How does it feel to be a myth?"

"Dean, I'm an angel," said Castiel. "I've always been one."

He took Dean's hand.

"Welcome to the pantheon," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Root beer and sarsaparilla are a part of American history. They were served at temperance bars. The last of the original bars is in England, but they are enjoying a resurgence now that people are more aware of the destructive qualities of alcohol.


	135. Three Men and a Baby

"Yeah, it was at one of those fake-ass 50s diners, you know, with the checkerboard floors and shiny red booths, little jukeboxes, you know the kind," said Dean. "Can't believe I'm talking to my brother, in Hell, on a cellphone. Heh. A _hellphone._ C'mon, you know you wanna say it."

Dean walked up the stairs to the house and fit his key in the lock, turning it.

"All right, all right, unclench, Samantha," said Dean. "You guys comin' up here for Thanksgiving? You better. I'm gonna make the best damn turkey you ever head. Yeah. Okay. Love you too. Bye."

Dean grinned and shook his head, amazed at how easily the words fell from his lips now, and wondered why they'd seemed so difficult to say before.

The house was dark, and he was instantly on alert.

His hand went reflexively to his gun, hidden beneath his canvas coat.

"Cas?" Dean called out in the gloom. Light from the windows filled the room, but it was late fall now, so he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"I'm here, Dean," said Cas in a strange voice. "It's all right. I'm fine."

"Bull," said Dean. "Why're the lights off?"

Cas shifted around a little. Dean could see that he was sitting on the floor, his huge wings up and out, against the wall.

He looked unhurt, but there was an expression on his face that Dean had never seen before.

"You all right, buddy?" asked Dean gently, putting his gun away. "What're you doing sittin' here in the dark? Better put some pants on, Sam and Rowena are gonna be over for Thanksgiving dinner and - "

Castiel's wings dropped with a hushed whispering sound.

Sitting behind Castiel was an enormous egg.

Blue with darker green struck through it, the egg reminded Dean of a kind of rock he'd seen somewhere once, larimar or something like that.

"Is that - " Dean whispered, and swallowed, with reverence.

"Yes, Dean," said Castiel, a worried little smile crossing his face. "It's ours."

Dean came to kneel beside Cas and gave him a questioning look.

"You can touch it, if you like," said Cas.

Dean reached out a hand and felt the egg. It had a pitted, pebbled surface, but was cool and smooth to the touch otherwise.

"It's like a dinosaur egg," he breathed.

"Well, yes," said Castiel. "Birds are descended from dinosaurs. Our habits might have been called _dinosaur behaviors,_ once upon a time."

Dean just kept caressing the thing in awe.

"And it doesn't like the lights?" he asked.

"We need to keep it somewhere warm and safe, preferably dark," said Castiel.

"Do you have to, uh," Dean asked, "like. Sit on it?"

Cas laughed.

"No, we're more like dinosaurs than most birds in that way," said Cas. "But it would probably be best to put it somewhere safe and warm, especially if there will be visitors and a lot of noise."

"Okay," said Dean. "I think the basement might be too cold. Let's put it in the guest bedroom for now, we can keep the blinds down, wrap it up in blankets and stuff. That good?"

"Yes, that's good," said Castiel.

Dean turned to him, and took his hand.

He kissed it, like a gentleman from an old romance.

Cas just melted.

"I'm happy, Cas," said Dean. "I'm so fuckin' happy I can't stand it."

"Me too, Dean," said Castiel. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the surprisingly accurate parts of the show is that diners look like the real deal, rundown browns and small booths. Those 50s-esque diners are tourist traps for the most part, although I've seen a few of the mom-n-pop places decide to redecorate in that way to attract customers.


	136. Voyage of the Rock Aliens

Dean had a hard time staying away from the egg.

"Oh man should I have been there?" he asked anxiously. "When you had it? Did it hurt? I didn't even think, I'm so sorry, Cas. Shit."

Cas gave him a puzzled, tired look over the top of his newspaper.

"Watching it will not make it hatch faster, Dean," he said mildly.

"I'm a shitty husband, oh my God, I wasn't there for when it - it happened!"

Castiel sighed and put the newspaper down.

"Dean, the egg just appears when it's ready," said Castiel. "It's nothing like childbirth. You're fine."

"Oh," said Dean, running a palm over the egg. "Okay, that's good then."

He stared at it.

"Dude, what if it's a velociraptor?" he said in a stunned voice.

" _Dean._ "

"You said you were related to dinosaurs!"

"If I'd known you were going to be such a nervous parent -"

"Have you _seen_ me around Sam?"

"Dean, beloved," said Castiel, taking his hands and pulling him away from the egg, giving him a kiss. "You'll be a wonderful father. But you need to leave it alone for now. Sam and Rowena will be here in an hour and we have a hunt."

Dean sighed.

"Yeah, you're right," he said, shaking his head. "Sorry, Cas, I'm just -"

"Concerned, I know," soothed Castiel. "But it will be fine. I promise."

"With the life we lead, Cas -"

"An angel can take care of itself, Dean."

"It's gonna be an angel?"

"Yes?" said Castiel. "Don't tell me you actually _meant_ what you said about the velociraptor, Dean, we're not actually _related_ to dinosaurs -"

"Well, I don't know these things!" said Dean. "It's all new to me."

"It will be an angel, and it will be beautiful, because it will be ours," murmured Castiel softly. "And Sam's going to be a wonderful uncle."

Dean relaxed into Castiel's arms.

"Thanks, Cas," he said. "I just - I ain't got any frame of reference for this kinda shit, y'know? Half of what pissed me off about Chuck and his whole puppetmaster schtick was that my dad did the same fuckin' thing to us when we were younger. Acted like he gave us independence but it was all a lie. Then it happens again, but it's God?"

Dean looked around the house.

"And then there's you, an' apparently you're the only real rebel around here," said Dean. "So we're in kinda uncharted waters. Know what I mean? I had a story, I stuck to the story. I'm a fuckin' stereotype, man, or at least that's what my dad wanted, it's what Chuck wanted, but I kept doin' shit they didn't like."

He grinned.

"And now, here we are," Dean said. "Livin' above ground, still hunting. Married! And about to have a kid."

"It must be overwhelming," said Cas.

"That's just it, Cas," said Dean. "It's all kinds of fuckin' weird, but overwhelming it ain't. No idea why. I just got the regular jitters, life's gonna change in a big way soon."

"I understand," said Cas.

"I hope I can be good for the kid, that's all," said Dean softly. "Hell, I ain't had a drink in months. But I still sleep in the daytime 'cause it's easier, still got those nightmares, we still live this life."

"And our child will love you," Castiel reassured him. "I know I do."

Dean kissed Castiel, and smiled.

He glanced over at the egg.

"Angels are watching over you," he said, and Castiel held him tight.


	137. This Land is Your Land

They were on the road again, and Dean was driving.

"They sure got a lot of excuses to come back topside, Persephone or not," he was telling Cas. 

"I think they just want to be here when the egg hatches. Are you complaining?"

"No, hell no," said Dean. "I just want Sam to be happy."

"You miss him, don't you."

"Well, yeah," said Dean on a sigh, "but it couldn't last forever. It wasn't good for either of us, Cas, I see that now."

They drove up and parked on the gravel patch outside the reservation.

"Dean," said Tracy, hugging him.

"I sense a disturbance," announced Solomon.

"Nice try, Sol, that's from _Star Wars_ ," Dean told him.

"You are a man wise in the ways of the world," Solomon told him gravely, and then grinned brightly and threw his arms around Dean. "Welcome back."

"Sol, I want you to meet Castiel," said Dean.

Solomon turned and the smile dropped from his expression.

He looked awed.

"Welcome, sir," said Solomon. "Can I get you a drink? Or something?"

Solomon's eyes weren't on Cas, but somewhere above and behind him.

Dean glanced at Tracy. She shrugged.

"Like I said," she told him. "I never could tell where the showboating ended and the real shit began."

***

Dean sat next to Tracy on the open hatch in the back of her pickup truck.

She was plucking her guitar.

Castiel sat in a lawn chair next to Solomon, who apparently only had eyes for him.

The angel nodded to him briefly.

"Ok, we're gonna - " Tracy started on a strum.

Dean smiled and joined in.

" _This land is your land, this land is my land_

_From California, to the New York Island_

_from the redwood forest to the Gulf Stream waters_

_this land was made for you and me._ "

Tracy and Dean smiled at each other.

" _As I went walking that ribbon of highway_

_I saw above me that endless skyway_

_Saw below me that golden valley_

_This land was made for you and me._

_I roamed and rambled and followed my footsteps_

_To the sparkling sands of her diamond deserts_

_All around me that voice was sounding_

_This land was made for you and me._ "

Solomon joined in, much to their surprise, and Castiel just looked on as they sang together.

" _When the sun come shining, then I was strolling_

_And the wheat fields waving, and the dust clouds rolling_

_The voice was chanting as the fog was lifting_

_This land was made for you and me._

_This land is your land, this land is my land_

_From California, to the New York Island_

_from the redwood forest, to the Gulf Stream waters_

_This land was made for you and me._

"Good to see you again, Trace."

"You too, Dean Winchester."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woody Guthrie, whose guitar famously read: _This machine kills fascists_
> 
> You will not find a more leftist contingent of people than those who live on the road.
> 
> America belongs to everyone. That's kind of the whole point.


	138. 500 Miles Away From Home (Railroader's Lament)

They arrived home near dawn, just as the light was beginning to rise in the east.

"I'll go make some coffee," Dean offered, but Sam was at the door and handed him one.

"Already made," he said warmly. "I think you're going to want to see this."

Dean gave him a puzzled look, but followed his brother inside.

They stood in front of the egg.

"Yeah?" asked Dean, tired from driving.

"Look, Dean," said Sam, and pointed.

There was a tiny hairline fracture in the egg.

"Oh," said Dean. " _Oh my God! Cas! Get in here right now!_ "

In a blink, Castiel was suddenly there, examining Dean's face.

"What is it, what's wrong?" the angel demanded.

"Not me, Cas, the egg!" said Dean.

Castiel turned to look, and saw the crack right away.

The warrior-angel attitude drained away, and he shyly took Dean's hand.

"It's time," he said.

"Do you think," said Dean on a hard swallow. "I mean, I know this is a dumb question, given our lives, but do you think it's safe for - do you think it's going to be safe?"

Castiel squeezed Dean's hand.

"Heaven is closed," said Castiel. "There are no further instructions to kill drifters or to meddle here at all. Angels will not be capable of time travel, so history remains intact. And like Achilles and Patroclus, Alexander and Hephaestion, we are warriors and lovers that deserve a rest."

Castiel turned to look at him.

"They wanted to make you forget," he said, "and to make you an angel, so you would understand. But it is humanity they failed to understand, and that was their downfall. The most salient concern we had - that the monsters would band together and fight us - was destroyed because the enemy of my enemy may not be my friend, but at least my ally."

Then Cas kissed him.

"Heaven is no longer involved in the affairs of the earth, and Hell is shut because of your brother and Rowena," he said. "The playing field is as equal as it has ever been. If there were a safe time for this to happen during all our years of fighting, Dean, it's now."

"Okay," said Dean, on a shuddering sigh. "Okay."

"I know that you wish to protect all who are yours," said Cas. "But you need not worry, Dean. This child will take care of itself."

"It's a nephilim, isn't it?" asked Sam.

Castiel shook his head.

"No, Sam, not anymore," said Cas. "The nephilim are results of the old order, persecuted and hated. This child will be something brand-new."

They watched as the egg cracked further, and finally fell away.

Inside was a small child - not a baby, but toddler-sized, with a pair of black wings.

"It's a girl," Castiel announced, as he pulled her out of the remainder of the egg.

"A girl," said Dean, breaking into a smile.

"There's enough guys around here as it is," said Sam.

Dean was enrapt as he watched Castiel hold their daughter.

"Any idea what you want to name her?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," said Dean, already smitten. "Samantha."

Sam's expression of touched happiness morphed into a bitchface the likes of which the world had never seen.

"What?" asked Dean innocently. "I like _Bewitched_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite version of this song is by Peter, Paul, Mary. 
> 
> Folk music is very popular with drifters, even now. I always thought it odd that they only addressed rock n' roll in the show, but once again, I assume it had to do with the 'cool' factor. While we do love rock n' roll, outlaw country, blues, and folk are important too, since they tend to be the musical genres that talk about our lifestyle.


	139. A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings

"Cas, I wanna sing to her."

"Dean, you can't sing."

"She doesn't care, does she?" Dean asked, cradling her. "She's real big, Cas. What's that about?"

"Angel children are generally born able to take care of themselves more readily than human children. Enjoy these moments, because they won't last."

"Then I wanna sing."

"Okay."

"I know a ton of folk songs, road songs, y'know, like the one we sang with Tracy," said Dean. "I think she should know her heritage."

Dean looked up at Cas.

"What if she gets your voice?" he asked suddenly. "She's gonna be smashing windows from here to the next state over, Cas."

"Then we'll deal with it," said Cas. "Like we always do."

Dean smiled down at her, and she reached out a hand and squeezed his finger.

"Hi," he said, and she giggled.

***

Time passed, and the seasons turned. Sam stayed with them over the summer.

Dean had decided that he wouldn't raise Samantha as a hunter, at least not in her early childhood. But that he would not lie or hide anything from her, because it wouldn't be right.

Especially as she was a kid with wings, and eventually he knew she'd have questions.

Dean and Cas would never leave the road, not really. He knew that now, just as he knew that he had drifter's blood pumping through his veins. 

He and Cas were both drifters, in their own way, and they would teach their daughter the same.

But Dean had finally learned that there was another option.

That one choice did not necessarily negate the other. 

He could have the road, and home.

He'd chosen homecooked meals and company, a gentle education for his own child. 

He would not be like his father.

And that, he knew, was also a choice he would have to keep making every single day.

But he also knew it was worth it.

***

One evening, as fall approached, Sam asked Dean to come outside.

Dean found him on his knees at the bottom of the stairs.

"Dude, if you're gonna propose, I got bad news for ya," said Dean.

"Shut up and come here," said Sam.

"Okay, what is it?"

"Just," said Sam. "I was thinking - about how much things have changed. The road's changed. Abandoned McDonalds, small-town, Main Street America is going by the wayside now. Time marches on, I guess. I heard a song recently, _kids grow up the monsters stay_. And I know that we'll always be haunted by monsters - real ones, or ghosts, or the past. Or whatever. The world we used to know - it's different, now. We're different."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Never thought I'd see the day, but here we are."

"Look, uh," said Sam, suddenly shy. "I just wanted to say - I'm going away again and I don't think I'll be back til next summer. And since it's time for us to change, just like everything else - I wanted to tell you I love you, Dean. Okay?"

Dean got down on his knees too, and smiled at his brother.

"I love you too, Sammy," said Dean.

Sam's eyes were wet, and he nodded.

"You wanna go for a drive?"

***

Dean walked up the stairs of their house.

The late summer air was welcoming and warm, and the door was open to the outside air.

He could hear the sonorous sound of Castiel reading to their daughter from all the way out here.

Dean leaned against the doorjamb and took in the sight.

Samantha, curled up on her father's lap, dark wings tucked in, wearing blue footie pajamas and staring at the book although she hadn't yet learned how to read.

"...made a second La Rochelle of it," Castiel was reading aloud.

Dean recognized the opening of _The Three Musketeers._

He smiled at them, soft and fond.

Cas had told him, just the night before, that he'd heard all of Dean's prayers to his guardian angel, after he'd been assigned.

He told Dean that he'd fallen in love long before he could even identify the feeling.

Dean glanced at the jelly rings that Castiel had insisted on having framed.

The stones they had exchanged so long ago, before Dean had any idea what that gesture meant to Castiel. Sola had been right - they were powerful rocks indeed.

The lovely, soft golden glow of the lamp illuminating the man and the child in his lap.

Castiel looked up at him. His face was tired but happy.

He smiled at Dean.

Standing there, in the door of the house he had built with his own two hands, looking at his husband and his daughter, he realized a few things.

That he could decide the shape of his own happiness.

That the world was not always such a hard, unforgiving place.

That the impossible was often possible if you just wished hard enough.

That dandelions grew out of the cracks in the sidewalk in front of the five-and-dime, and you could, in fact, find absolution there.

THE END.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good film about the decline of small-town America is _What's Eating Gilbert Grape?_
> 
> The song Sam is referencing is called Kids (reprise) by The Midnight.
> 
> Title of the chapter from a very famous short story about a crash-landed angel.


	140. Rough Guide to Writing Drifters

Here's a short reference for those of you writing this culture.

LANGUAGE: This one is a little difficult, because it takes easy familiarity with the way we speak that you won't have if you aren't a drifter. Aggressive, direct speech; _ain't/awesome,_ frequent near-constant swearing, use of double negatives, references to media. All of that has been fairly well-done within the show itself.

However, something I do see frequently is British English, that is: "Dean was sat on the bed" No! American English is always _sitting._ This throws me out of the story every single time. I doubt it would if this setting wasn't so fiercely American, but given the fact that it is, British English derails the story.

MOTELS: There are options here, either mom-n-pop or chain. Chains are pretty soulless but sometimes have perks more similar to hotels. Motel = motor hotel. These are the more modern variant of a carriage inn, where people would stop on long journeys in the past. Mom-n-pop (family-owned) motels often have a gimmick of some kind to attract people, and these are often squeaky clean places if very old-fashioned and a little tired around the edges. Roaches are a problem in some motels across the nation just as they are a problem in general. The cleanliness of any given motel really depends on how much a labor of love running the place might be. 

_Most_ motels (not all) tend to be single-story and run along the front of a motor court, or have a motor court as their central focus point. Some are two-story but they tend to be of a similar rectangular shape. The rooms are often pretty small - the places they stay in the show often feel oddly huge to me, but I suppose I can excuse that if they are in a kitchenette. This is the word for a motel room with a little hotplate and small refrigerator. Some of the nicer ones even have ovens or stoves. Kitchenettes are for longer stays when you're planning to do more cooking and they tend to offer discounts. You can book a motel room daily, weekly, or monthly, another difference from hotels.

DINERS: As mentioned in the story, those 50s knockoffs are extremely fake, although some actual diners have decided to redecorate in this way. Normally, a diner consists of several wooden booths, formica countertops, linoleum flooring, maybe a long counter depending. One of the things the show got right, as most diners on display look like the real deal. There's always a lady with a long ponytail of indeterminate age carrying a coffeepot. The food is 1. a lot, 2. cheap, 3. delicious.

DRIVING: Route 66 - _avoid._ This place has been decommissioned for years and drifters are itinerant workers. Last thing you want is your car to get destroyed on the garbage patch that is this road. Besides, it's no longer connected even to itself let alone the rest of the road, and primarily caters to people who want the road life experience and don't know any better. Drifters and hobos use the freeway because that's why it's there. Functionality, practicality, logic, and getting from point A to point B matter a lot to the people who live on the road. 

Freeways are bright, fast, and get you where you need to be.

Backroads are fun if you just feel like an aimless drive but please also understand that depending on who you are these areas can be dangerous. The USA is full of a lot of different things and different cultures, not all of which are positive or friendly. There is also racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and so forth, so be aware of these things when writing. They don't always crop up where you'd expect them to, either. America is a grab bag of types of people. It's not like there's an actual racist/non-racist divide at the Mason-Dixon, for example. So keep that in mind for your stories.

Your car is your best friend, your home, your constant companion. You _need_ to know it well. I don't mean that you need to be able to rebuild it from scratch, but it's a good idea to have a general understanding of how to take care of a vehicle. Most drifters would choose a reliable vehicle for long-haul work. The Impala is not a car I would have chosen for this purpose, but that's what we have to work with in these stories, so a general awareness of its ability to handle, its gas-guzzling nature, the discomfort of bench seats after a long drive, etc. is important for realism, even within such an unrealistic setting.

GAS STATIONS: Back when this show began, gas stations were still extremely limited in their offerings. I remember it was very exciting to find more than one brand of iced tea in the Midwest back in the day, and that there would be a sad little basket of browned fruit on the counter. That would be the only nod to anything healthy. There was very little selection back then. These days, gas stations are like an oasis in the desert, grocery stores with sushi counters and delis and who knows what else. Drifters tended to pick up Twizzlers - sugar keeps you awake longer than coffee and means that you don't need a bathroom break every 50 miles or so. Back then also there was only one kind of coffee and it was black, mysterious, and you used even more dubious powdered coffee creamer if you didn't like it black. Sometimes vending machines would spit out chicken broth, helpful during times when you needed salt and/or were sick, better than coffee in cold weather too.

FOOD: Whatever you can get your hands on. I'm serious. We don't live very luxurious lifestyles and we probably have the worst diets of anyone in the country. Eat what you can eat while driving (Twizzlers, coffee, iced tea, cheese sticks, beef jerky). Eat what's cheap. Invent new things made out of cheap crap. Learn to cook things that can be made over the stove for very little money. Discover some kind of delicious meal that you spend months dreaming about before you can have it again. All of that is part and parcel of the life, good and bad. I'll be adding a recipe list in another chapter so you can see the kinds of food we end up eating.

CLOTHING: Jeans, flannel, t-shirt, leather jacket, hiking boots. This is another thing the show got right, because these clothes can be adapted to fit just about any weather that you might encounter. The flannel is there for warmth, leather and jeans are there to be protective. Unless you're on the southern coast in the middle of summer, it's a versatile outfit that doesn't really need to be thought about all that much.

FIELD MEDICINE/FIRST AID: Like it or not, we all need to know the basics. I'd argue that even non-drifters should know this stuff. I'm not just talking about a tourniquet either, but how to deal with wounds and sickness as if you were on a battlefield and had no access to healthcare. That's our usual state of being on the American road.

WORK: This aspect of the show always baffled me. I do day-labor all the time, wherever I show up. Sometimes that means signing up to a place like Labor Ready, sometimes that means picking up extra shift hours as a dishwasher, sometimes it means signing on as a security guard, whatever. These guys supposedly support themselves via credit card fraud. Where are these cards getting mailed to, exactly? Questions without answers. I get that they wanted to focus on the hunting aspect of the show, but realistically, drifters do day labor and take temporary assignments, whatever those might happen to be.

PERSONALITY: Honestly, this could be anything, because there are as many different types of drifters are there are types of people. I'd say that we tend to be brash, straightforward, kind of loud, enjoy drinking, extremely leftist, like getting into brawls for fun with each other. I think of punks as a prototypical drifter type, and some of them do in fact become drifters or hobos. There are just as many women as men who are drifters, along with those on all points of the gender spectrum.

HOBO SIGNS: These are out of fashion nowadays, since the rise of social media and the Internet, but once upon a time they were everywhere. You can see photos of them online, our old method of communication.

THE HOBO CODE: This is a loose assortment of laws that dictate behavior. It's available on wikipedia if you want to look it up. These laws apply to drifters, hobos, and itinerant workers of all types.

SAFETY: This is really where the rubber meets the road, because drifting is inherently unsafe. I'd argue that freighthopping is even more dangerous. It is, by its very nature, a lifestyle with little security of any kind. That said, living just about anywhere and doing anything is dangerous. You can get murdered anywhere. The main takeaway from this is that much of what we consider safety/security is nothing more than an illusion. Drifters know that better than anyone.

I hope all this is of some use to those of you wishing to write about drifters. If you have any questions, please let me know! I'd be happy to help out. Since this is my life, it's not always easy to remember what to add or explain, and if you ask a question, I can answer it and add it to this guide for others who want to write in the lifestyle. Any good representation of drifters is always a good thing in my book. 


	141. The Gentrification of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short essay.

Something I don't often see addressed is the gentrification of the American road.

People have fallen in love with and romanticized our lifestyles to the point that certain places are becoming a parody of themselves.

Instead of the usual mom-n-pop diner, there's a stylized version with overpriced food.

Instead of dive bars, there's now a fancy version in a similar style charging 8 dollars per glass of wine.

Many motels are now charging through the roof as well.

All of these places existed because they served a certain sector of the American public. Now, many of them cater to middle-class tourism, people who want the _on the road experience_ but are not likely to enjoy suffering some of its worst aspects. Unfortunately, that means pricing the real drifters out of the market entirely.

This is not only a problem with the road, I know. But the fact it _is_ a problem on the road doesn't usually get addressed, because people don't think we exist, or if they do, that we don't matter.

The American road is important. Where it goes, especially its major arteries, tend to dictate whether a town will live or die. When the freeways began to bypass Route 66, this decline was evident. 

So it's important to the vitality of any given area whether a road goes through there and what type of road it is, whether the town started up along a major highway and then was bypassed (like the towns along Route 66), and what the town has to offer its inhabitants by way of earning money, or agriculture, or some other offering. 

These days, much of the money is in IT, is online, is digital, and the speed at which this has happened hit certain parts of America extremely hard. Entire cultures and lifestyles grew up around the concepts of backbreaking work and rugged individualism that don't quite match up to modern life. Even though the rise of the digital age technically means that anyone can do it from anywhere, there's a real imbalance in the distribution of wealth around the nation. Especially for those who prefer manual labor to a desk job, and even more especially to those who take issue with the shitty treatment that employers display towards employees these days.

I've been around for a long time and believe me, this was not the way employees were treated in the past, at least not wholesale. So things need to change, and one of the ways that we ensure that change happens is to make people aware of it, make them aware that it _hasn't_ always been this way and we all deserve to be treated better. The advent of technology was supposed to make our lives easier, not harder. We are not automatons and we're supposed to leave that kind of 24-7 work to them.

Over time, this split of the drifter lifestyle and the gentrification/romanticization of the same has eroded the real places and people that constitute who we are and what we do. I remember someone calling this show _a nostalgia show for a time we wish we had lived._ Well, there are a lot of people out there still living it.

Yes, there is an America out there of nothing but billboards and neon signs and bright lights and gas stations, crowded together with crisscrossed highways and power lines.

But there's also an America out there made up of thousands of cultures that call this nation home.


	142. Food List

Velveeta Shells and Cheese

Kraft Mac N Cheese (before they changed the recipe, not so much now)

Squids

Creamed tuna and peas on toast

Powdered doughnut holes

Bear claws

Spaghetti and meatballs (called bolognese elsewhere)

Hot lobster sandwich and mashed potatoes

Cajun chicken alfredo

For driving:

Twizzlers

Mountain Dew

Iced tea

Coffee

Cheese sticks

Beef jerky

Doritos/Fritos/Cheetos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll continue to add to this if I think of anything.


	143. Author's Note for Part III

Hi everyone!

Thanks so much for sticking with this increasingly bizarre story. One of the best things about writing these guys is how intensely weird you can get with it. That's a freedom you don't usually get with mainstream stuff.

I think this is the longest thing I've ever written, and honestly, it could never have been long enough. I wanted to show the various different cultures and landscapes all across the United States and kept thinking _what about xyz?_ There is just so much out there it's impossible to put it all into a single story, but I hope that it's shone a light on just how diverse and exciting the United States can be. I also wanted to highlight the different cultures, religions, races, communities, the interaction between them, and the history. The country has a lot to offer and a deeper cultural history than people around the world tend to know.

I also wanted to show the drifter lifestyle and I hope that it's been somewhat educational in that way for those of you who are interested in it.

Thanks so much again for reading.


	144. Draw Your Veil Across the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't get this out of my head, so here's a little addition to this story.

The early-morning sunlight poured into the kitchen, illuminating the world in gold.

There was a girl rummaging through the cupboards.

Tall and strong, with long, shaggy black hair, and a pair of big black wings.

"Ugh, Dad, did you eat all the muesli?" she grumbled.

She turned around and looked up.

"Don't pretend you're not there, I could hear you chirping this morning," she said.

"Apologies, Samantha."

" _Did_ you eat the muesli?" she asked.

"I...might have."

" _Dad._ "

"Still braggin' about me, huh?" Dean asked fondly, glancing up at Cas perched in his usual place, barechested and barefoot, but at least wearing jeans this time. 

Dean walked out of their bedroom, taking a sip of his coffee.

They had a coffee machine in their bedroom, because old habits die hard.

Samantha gave him a disgusted look.

"Dad, _gross_ ," she said. 

"That reminds me," said Dean. "Sam's coming over today."

"Oh, _awesome!_ " said Samantha, all bright grin.

Dean smiled back at her. 

She had green eyes and freckles like him, but Cas's wild, messy dark hair and his thick, muscular build. She was _taller than Sam_ and Dean often wondered where the height came from, maybe angelic, maybe the same latent Winchester genes Sam had acquired somehow.

It turned out that her wings were mostly vestigial, and despite being able to hear Castiel chirping, she didn't have any other powers or abilities as far as they could see. 

Samantha was mostly human, and despite Dean's worry that she would get teased growing up due to her wings, the world had turned out to be...

a very different place than Dean had grown up in, because suddenly monsters had become a fact of life, and if anything, Dean's hunter status and humanity made him something of the odd one out.

Samantha had taken after both of her fathers in obvious ways. She was mischievous and funny, and had zero hesitation in coldcocking a dude if she had to. 

Which Dean hadn't taught her. She'd picked it up herself.

She'd wanted fight training as soon as she could ask for things, so Dean and Cas's plans of letting her kumbaya her way through life had ended there.

"Not my fault you like muesli," said Dean. "You get that from your father. There's plenty of bacon."

Samantha breathed a long-suffering sigh as Dean elbowed his way past her to get the frying pan. 

Dean had gone full gray, as blonds tended to do, while Castiel's hair was salt-and-pepper. Dean kept calling him a _silver fox_ because it made Cas follow him around with that birdlike question mark face he loved. 

_What do you mean? I'm an angel,_ Cas always said. 

Dean was around 75% sure Cas was just fucking with him, but that was part of the charm.

Speaking of which, the sex was _still_ out-of-this world fantastic, and despite Dean's younger years, literally _no one_ could turn his head. 

Not after Castiel, no way.

The sound of a car pulling up the gravel driveway rumbled through the house.

"Sam!" yelled Samantha, throwing the door open to see Sam climbing up the stairs. "Hey, America."

She threw herself into his arms. Sam laughed.

"Didn't think that nickname was gonna stick," he said.

Sam had long, sleek gray hair tied back in a ponytail. It seemed that he'd actually been keeping it fairly short while he and Dean traveled together, because now he looked like Sean Connery in _Highlander._

"'Course it was gonna stick, I mean, _Uncle Sam?_ " said Samantha. "C'mon, Dad's making breakfast."

"I smell bacon, so you must mean Dean," said Sam.

"Yeah, Dad ate all the muesli," said Samantha in disgust. 

"And that would be Cas," said Sam.

"Heya, Ramirez," said Dean, hugging his brother with a fork in one hand for turning the bacon. "Glad you could make it."

Rowena had relaxed the whole Sam-as-Persephone thing a while back, when it became clear that despite the closed nature of all the afterlives, monsters were still going to be a thing.

Dean was still a hunter. He probably always would be.

But things had changed, and much like a regular hunter might trade in their guns for a camera, Dean had another goal in mind when hunting.

He'd found it harder and harder to do his job the regular way, because with every single monster he was gunning for, he kept thinking:

_what if this is somebody else's Castiel?_

So, without the interference of angels or demons, things had started changing between the human world and the monster one. More talking, less _shoot first, ask questions later._

Sam became one of the first lawyers representing monsters. After all, he had been one himself, and now he was a very powerful witch. A _witch lawyer,_ which was more terrifying than Dean wanted to admit.

Then Rowena had founded one of the first witching schools, and they started popping up all over the country, and then the world. This included universities, and involved everything from studying magic to folkloric history. 

All in all, Dean thought, they'd made the world a better place. They had learned a less violent language, and continued to do what they had always done, making the world safer.

If it hadn't been for Castiel, and then Samantha, Dean doubted he would have ever learned another way of being.

Castiel had come down off his usual perch and hugged Sam. Then he went up to Dean for a kiss.

 _God, his eyes are still so blue,_ thought Dean, before any other thought was completely obliterated by the searing kiss from his husband.

"Gross," said both Sams at exactly the same time.

Dean and Cas laughed, and pressed their foreheads together briefly.

"Can Zach come over later?" asked Samantha.

"That the boy you've got your eye on?" asked Dean.

"I don't have _my eye_ on him," said Samantha.

"You whacked him in the ass with your wing, Sam," said Dean. "What did we tell you about that?"

" _Don't whack people with your wings, Samantha,_ " Samantha parroted in a deep, gruff voice, which was impressive, because her voice was already deep. "Mmm. Hate to see him go, but love to watch him leave."

"Hey hey hey!" barked Dean. "None of that crap now."

"Oh, what, you get to talk like that but I don't?" asked Samantha. "Just 'cause I don't understand what Dad's saying when he's chirping in the morning doesn't mean I don't know what it means, _Dad._ "

"How - " Dean sputtered.

"Rowena told me."

Dean glared at Sam, who raised his hands.

"Don't look at me," he said. "She does what she wants."

"Anyway," said Dean. "Uh. Just. You -"

"What Dean is trying to say," said Castiel, "is that you can always come to us if you have questions about sex."

Samantha beamed up at them both as she stole a piece of bacon with a fork from where she was sitting at the breakfast bar.

Dean turned beet red and Sam just laughed and laughed.

***

Later that night, after Sam had left, Cas and Samantha were sitting together up on the perch. 

Castiel's great black wings were out, and he embraced her with his left wing as she leaned against him.

"So this is Langston Hughes," said Castiel. "He was a gay Black man during a very dangerous time in America for people like him, and even so, he believed in a far better future."

Dean smiled to himself as he listened to Castiel recite the familiar old poem.

"America never was America to me," Castiel spoke, in his langorous, fluid voice, sonorous and sweet, "and yet I swear this oath -America _will be!_ "

Dean would never have predicted a future like this one. Helping their kid with homework. Spending time with Sam, having dinner together, _just 'cause._ Sam fighting legal battles on behalf of monsters, the way he once fought against them. Dean running an outreach program for those monsters that were still in hiding because of people like him, who could only think with the business end of a gun.

He never thought that things would change, that the darkness of his future might just be a tunnel with a light at the eventual end. 

Hell, he never thought _he_ could change.

But now, today, tonight, he was different.

Tonight, Dean thought:

_Maybe you were right, Mr. Hughes._

_And America **will be**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read Langston Hughes's _Let America Be America Again_ , it is excellent.
> 
> From an old anti-fascist, whisky-drunk drifter to all of you: 
> 
> May we continue to keep the faith, especially during these times, and retain the same kind of hope in working toward that particular American dream.


End file.
